Blue Lips
by Dragongirl617
Summary: Dib's POV; How can anyone foresee how the upcoming circumstances can mutate the poisonous hatred, into the most nourishing of love and devotion? Follow this unforgettable story, and discover for yourself how deep the toxins of emotion can run. Rated M for occurring themes later on, and ideas of ZADR. Also featured on deviantArt
1. Prologue

Prologue

Flashes.

The world around him, appearing and vanishing in the flashes before his eyes. Murder upon his scenes; his sight, smell, touch and tongue, overwhelmed with the surroundings that flash in and out of existence.

Blood running.  
Pain tearing.  
Hatred burning.  
Terror screaming. Screaming, over and over again, rippling past the flashes. When nothing else lives, there is but the screaming. And the agony. The never ending pain that streams all through his body, igniting everything in its path into tsunami waves of the burning torture. It leaves no ash but the ashes that rule his bones; crumbling him into a heaving, helpless mess, bringing to life undying screams.

It is all twisting, congealing, mutating, transforming into the assaults upon his senses: the blood, the pain, the hate, the terror - it is all too much; erupting out with fountains of blood._ The blood, I can feel it . . . It hurts so much!_ His limbs are thrashing but he cannot escape; he is made to suffer through the vicious flames, shuddering with pain, rendering flesh from bone, and soaked through with the fear that keeps his mouth open, keeps the screams running eternally. Brought up along with the blood that scrapes at his raw throat, boiling and blended hot with agony. Over and over and over again, with the blood and the hate and the terror and the pain . . .

And then nothing. Save for the salty taste of relief, spilling free from his eyes and trickling down his inflamed throat.


	2. Chapter 1

Dib's POV

The surreal worlds around me - pounding in my ears, blazing in my eyes, invading my nostrils and ruling my entire body - suddenly disappeared in an instant; killed dead by the wailing torment that streamed from atop my desk.  
_"Uh . . . shit . . ."_ I groaned, and with great effort my hand stretched out and slapped across the irritating clock. It immediatly shut up, and for not the first time I cursed Dad's stupid lab assistant for buying it for me.

Today was Wednesday; the sight of the calender made me curse again. My Wednesday timetable was my least favorite of the entire week. Muttering oaths I kicked the duvet off of my body as I lifted myself out of the softest, most comfortable bed in the world, and reached out for my glasses. From the back of my desk chair I snatched up the clean clothes I had set out the night before. Stretching the sleep from my groggy limbs, I headed out of the center point of my haven.

I was barely pass the threshold of my bedroom when my eyes located my sister, also heading from her room in the same direction as me. Our movements froze in unison; each attempting to stare the other down. Adrenalin rippled; and an eruption of energy burst into the pair of us as we suddenly charged towards the bathroom. My legs and arms were longer than that of my little sister; my fingertips stretched far and brushed against the doornob.

"No you don't, faggot!" roared Gaz, leaping upon me, the muscles in her arms flexing. Her glamorously manicured fingernails dug painfully into my arm, pulling me backwards from the door. Despite being a year my junior she had always been stronger than me; ever since she was seven. I felt myself skid, and suddenly I was on the floor, looking upwards as Gaz slammed the bathroom door behind her.

"Beautiful," I grunted, picking myself up. A fresh bruise was beginning to flower beneath my skin where she had grabbed me. I then yelped in rage when I heard the shower switching on, knowing that I was not going to get my turn now before skool. If Gaz heard me then she paid no attention, instead choosing to switch on the shower radio. Sighing in irritance, I scooped up my fallen clothes and headed towards the toilet on the ground floor, where I was at least able to relieve myself and have a quick wash with the sink and sponge. I threw on a clean t-shirt, jeans, and my ever present wrist band; a recent addition to my appearance. Satisfied, I tucked the precious gold chain beneath my t-shirt and moved into the kitchen.

I had long since given up on eating at breakfast time. Not because of anorexia or laziness, but simply because I never found myself with an appitite in the morning. Gaz often said that this was the reason I was such a skinny prick; I was more inclined to believe that it was genetic. Since Dad was hardly ever at home during the day it was left to me and Gaz to feed ourselves, and more often than not I replaced my meals with potato chips and candy, and other snack foods. Yet it did not seem to matter how much junk food I ate, at the end of it all I always remained stick-thin.

On the stove I set the coffee pot on to boil. Whilst I waited I double-checked my pre-packed bag to ensure that I had my supplies for the day. The sight of my timetable made me cringe: tutorial in the morning, followed by English language, social and health studies, double trig, and double French - my least favorite subjects. I knew that I was top of my year in most classes - my grades always proved that - but it did not stop the lessons being the most hidious torture imagiable. Not to mention that my timetable matched Zim's _exactly._

Wanting to forget the upcoming agony I sought for something to distract me. In the living room I found my _Crop Circles_ magazine hidden down the back of the couch, and grinned. _Perfect,_ I thought, and took it back into the kitchen. By this time the coffee was ready. I poured a slug into a mug and added sugar, before carrying it over the table and sitting down. I blew on the rim and sipped my drink; it was strong and sweet - just how I liked it. Smiling in the knowing that I was comfortable and happy, for the time being at least, I opened my magazine and started to read, glad of no Dad home to distract me.

There were very few reasons that I found were good about Dad not ever being around, one of which being that he could no longer ridicule me over my interests in the paranormal. Everyone had thought my obsession was nothing more than a childish activity that I would grow out of. How wrong they had been. I no longer attempted to convince other people of the existence of Zim and other alien creatures, but that did not stop my own investigations. I was still a member of the Swollen Eyeballs Network; we all met up once every six months to discuss our findings, but aside from them no one ever believed me. Dad was the worst. Ever since I was four he had tried to convince me to abandon my interests in favor of 'real science'. I was relieved when I reached the age of fourteen, and he flatly gave up on me. I think it was this disappointment that convinced him to avoid the house as much as possible. Generally he left for work ridiculously early in morning, and came home again long after Gaz and I were asleep. In reality I no longer cared. I was not going to give up my beliefs just because he said so, and it had long since past the point of any chance of a relationship being rekindled between us.

"There'd better be coffee left." Gaz's harsh voice sounded from the doorway. I could smell the sharp scent of her favorite shampoo.

"In the pot," I replied without looking up from Crop Circles. I heard my sister move about the kitchen, fetching herself coffee and cereal, the beeping emulating from her cell phone sounded all the while as she texted away. I paid no attention to her activities, even when she sat opposite me with her breakfast. Just as there was no chance of developing a relationship with my dad, there was no love lost between me and Gaz. I was four when our mom died; since that day Dad had started leaving us on our own for longer periods of time. I hated him for it. With no real parental figure around Gaz had looked to_ me_ to be the parent - but I could not do it. I was a child myself, and I too wanted nothing more than a mother and father to play with me, and guide me, and show me what to do when I was lost or confused. I could not be the parent that Gaz craved.

As a result a deep and unrepairable rift had imposed itself between us. Gaz resented me for not being the father she had expected of me. And I resented her for not understanding that I too was just a kid in need of parental love.

Gaz's phone beeped again. Seconds later she said, "I'm going to Bloaty's tonight, so don't wait up for me for dinner."

"Whatever," I grunted without surprise. The Wednesday night Game Slave club always went to Bloaty's Pizza Hog. It would have made more sense for Gaz to inform me if the meal out was cancelled.

As I turned the page of my magazine I caught sight of time on the stove: 8:43am - I shoved _Crop Circles_ into my bag to read later during break and stood up. "We're gonna have to leave soon," I said, and swallowed the last of my coffee. Gaz always shoveled her food down fast; she now moved to gather her belongings for skool. Over the years she had grown from a threatening little girl into a formidable young woman. Now at the age of sixteen she continued to dress herself in Gothic atire; her black mini dress was fastened with lace and jewles, matching her tight skull choker and the silver and black beads fastened into her hair. A beautiful heartbreaker was my sister.

"Good. I need to stop by an ATM," said Gaz, tightening the straps on her pointy Goth boots. Heading to the front door she shoved past me as though I was nothing more than a hat stand. A loose chain on her bag whipped into my bare arm, breaking skin, drawing blood. I groaned.

Great. Just great. Skool hadn't even started and I was already bleeding.

Today was going to be a good day, I could just tell.

"Hurry up, fag! I said I need to get to an ATM!" yelled Gaz.

Biting back an unwise response I heaved on my trench coat and slung my bag onto my shoulders, following Gaz out of the house, leaving behind my safe and welcoming haven.


	3. Chapter 2

"Hey there, faggot! Missin' ya boyfriend?"

Roars of laughter erupted all around me, at me, led by the effect of Chunk Butcher's words. With careless grace I pulled out the books for my next class and sealed up my locker.

"Sorry, Chunk, did you say something?" I called, perfectly calm and unaffected. A lifetime of bullying had hardened me to almost anything; no insult could cause me distress anymore.

Chunk let out a bark of laughter. "Missin' ya boyfriend, ain't ya? Mopin' about like a little pussy, why don't you clear off and visit little Zimmy?" The sniggers blazed to life again. Chunk smirked, and wrapped his arm around his girlfriend's waist. Jessica giggled and snuggled into his chest.

For all the people that surrounded me it was as though they did not exist. I pocketed my locker keys and moved to stand directly before Chunk, at perfect ease. Over the years his excess flesh had hardened into powerful muscle; his orange hair sparked upwards in an admirable Mohawk. We had both grown to almost the same height, but where Chunk was bulky with strong, fat muscles, I was scrawny as a street rat. But I was not afraid. Six years of battling against Zim had turned me into somewhat of a fighter; my bones were like wire, I was stronger than I looked. Not as strong as Chunk, but strong enough to stand my ground.

"Better not let Zim hear you calling him my boyfriend, Chunk. He might flip out." I said cooly. The students around us who had known Zim in elementary and middle skool cringed at the thought of his anger. Zim had a wicked temper when he lost control.

Chunk snorted. "Like I care what that green prat does. You should bugger off to see him, Dibby, and bugger him." More laughter.

I grinned._ Stepped right into the trap, Chunk._ "Why Chunk, what's with this sudden interest in buggering?" I turned my head. "You should watch out, Jess, or before you know it he'll have you in the _doggy_house, if you get my meaning." Flicking my index finger towards his nose I winked, and briskly twisted around gaping Chunk towards trig, relishing in the cheers I had earned.

Mere seconds passed before Chunk screamed curses and threats down the corridor at me. If I had said that to him four years ago then it would have most certainly earned me a punch in the mouth, but even Chunk was not stupid enough to start throwing punches around in the middle of the skool, surrounded by teachers and eighteen year old students even bigger than he was. To some extent I was greatly admired by many students. I had been relatively open about my sexuality since the day I had discovered it, even though I knew it would earn me nothing but derogatory names and more isolation than ever. But despite this admiration I still had no friends, since it was common knowledge that I had been obsessed with Zim being an alien for a very long time. I had given up on trying to convince people of Zim's identity towards the end of middle skool, but it mattered naught. I had already been labled the 'crazy kid'. I did not care though, I did not want to be friends with people who would only except me for being like them. I would rather be on my own and know myself, than be with people who hated me for being _me._

As planned I was the first into trig, the only other person present being the teacher. I took my seat near the front of the classroom and placed my belongings onto my desk. I preferred to sit at the front of the classroom as oppose to the back; there was less chance of people throwing things at me right beneath the lecturer's nose. I unzipped my case for a pen, retrieving my MP3 player at the same time. I pushed the buds into my ears; the music rang long and deep, the lyrics speaking as if personally to me. With another ten minutes until the start of class I reached for the magazine hidden inside my textbook, and read on from where I had left off this morning. I had developed this strategy to avoid the bullies several months ago, and to this day it never failed to work.

A sudden tapping on my shoulder caused me to jump, knocking my pen onto the floor. Rolling my eyes I paused the song and bent to retrive the pen, only to find that someone was holding it out for me.

I blinked in pleasant surprise. No one ever willingly helped me out. "Thanks," I said, taking my pen. I looked up to see who had helped me, and it was all I could do not to groan aloud.

_Oh my God, God. Do you hate me or something?_ He stood there beside me for a good thirty seconds before I gave in and said, "Is there something you wanted, Keef?" Without looking up from_ Crop Circles_.

Keef was possibly the only student in the whole skool who had a harder time with the bullies than me, and I was not overly surprised. The boy was - there was no other way to describe it - an irritating brat. He had many annoying habits and ticks, the worst being a whiny high-pitched voice that set my teeth on edge. His only friends were the other students labeled as 'rejects', who stuck together because there was no one else, and they did not appear to like him much. He had once hung out with Zim in elementary, but even the Irken got annoyed with him after a few hours.

To make matters worse Keef was also gay, and as a result he seemed to believe that he and I were friends - a concept that made me want to gag.

"Heya, buddy. I was . . . just wondering if you knew where Zim was?" Keef stuttered out, his fingers twisting together, his bright green eyes never leaving me.

Defeated at last I sighed, and put my magazine down. "Zim hasn't been in skool all day. Why would I know where he is?" I snapped. For God's sake, there were only seven precious minutes before trig. Why would he not leave me be to enjoy my music and magazine?

"Well, you're his friend, right? Didn't he text you or something?"

I almost choked on the very breath I took. Me and Zim, friends?! When the hell had I ever given off such an indication?! I quickly recovered myself before Keef tried to thump me on the back, and stood up.

"Okay Keef, let me correct just about everything you said," I said. "First off, I've told you before that Zim is _not_ my friend. Number two, I don't think he even has a cell phone. And before you ask, no, I don't know why he's not in ether. If you're so interested why don't you go by his house after skool?" This was cruel thing for me to suggest, since it was obvious that Zim could not abide Keef. But for his part ignorant Keef seemed to relish in the idea. A beaming smile stretched across his face as he happily agreed and invited me to go with him. I flatly told him no. He was not fazed in the slightest by my rejection, and skipped off to his own seat without another word to me, as though I no longer existed. I sighed again, and sat back down.

For my part I could not understand why Keef was so concerned. Okay, so he had a monster crush on Zim, but it was not uncommon for Zim to skip days of skool. Generally he bunked on Friday so to avoid Biology, but nonetheless his skiving was hardly a shock. I only got nervous when he was away for more than three days, as this often resulted in him unleashing a sudden, evil plot. When we had first met Zim's plots were as naive as he was, but as he had matured so had his schemes. It was slowly becoming more and more difficult for me to prevent his attacks each time. True, the breaks between his plans could last for weeks at a time, but each one was now more deadly than the last.

I shook myself from my daydream as my classmates started streaming into the classroom, still laughing and sharing their conversations from recess. I quickly shoved _Crop Circles_ inside the textbook before someone could notice and snigger.

"Settle down, settle down," called the teacher, his tone practically dripping boredom. My fellow students quickly rushed to their seats before detentions could be handed out. I could not prevent my eyes from sliding towards Zim's empty seat. In a flicker of my eyelids the classroom emptied, leaving no one but myself and the absent Irken's desk. If I focused hard enough I could _almost_ see him lounging in his seat with his legs on the desk, chewing the plastic of his pen, with one hand resting casually on the sharp point of his slender hip . . .

The teacher's hand slamming upon his desk snatched me out of my fantasy before I could even question why I was thinking such a thing. I hurriedly pulled open my textbook to the page listed on the chalk board, and began taking notes in the margin as the teacher launched into the meat and drink of his lecture. I listened hard, worked hard, and tried hard to ignore the fact that, for some reason I could not fathom, my fringe was sticking to my forehead.


	4. Chapter 3

I do not know if anyone experiences this too, but is it not the boring days seem to drag on forever? At any rate it certainly appeared that way to me, as I struggled my way through trig and French. Those final few minutes of the skool day were the absolute worst; I found my eyes drawn away from Zim's empty chair and towards the clock, willing it with all my strength for those hands to move faster before I fell asleep.

When the final bell rang I was the first to leap from my seat and dash from the classroom, desperate to escape the suffocating confines of hi-skool. I was clearly not the only person dying the break free of this place ether; around me my fellow students were rushing about their own lockers, briskly gathering their belongings so that they could go home and play video games, or go shopping with their friends, or do whatever they did with their free time. From across the corridor I spied Chunk, flashing me venomous looks, still realing over the comment I had thrown at him earlier. From the look on his face I could tell that he wanted nothing more than to drag me into a ditch and beat me bloody. I kept looking ahead, as though his silent threats did not mean anything to me.

I was relieved when Jessica wound her arm through his and simpered into his ear. Chunk's lips curled upwards into a degrading grin; his head bobbed down and his tongue slid into her mouth. I had to look away so they would not see me gag. I could not understand how_ anyone_ could date Jess. Since age thirteen I think she had had about eleven boyfriends. Or was it twelve? - I could not even remember. And of course there was all those rumors about her having to take a day off of skool to have an abortion, age fourteen. I am not one to listen to gossip, but going by her record nothing could suprise me about that slut.

Keeping my gaze to the ground I hurried past all the remaining students and headed in the direction of home, via a corner store for a six pack of my favorite vanilla Poop cola, hoping that the caffeine would keep me awake.

Whilst I despise Wednesday skool-day, I love the time afterwards. With Gaz out at her Game Slave club and Dad away almost perminantly it means that I had the whole house to myself; no one around to annoy me or bicker over my choice of TV channel or CD. I left my soda, save for one can, on the kitchen table and moved straight up to my room where I booted up my computer. While I waited for it to load I put away my textbooks and magazine, and hung my coat behind my chair. I tapped in my password, sat down and waited, rubbing my eyes.

Once the computer finished logging me in my first instinct was to check my messages. Not my emails mind; my messages from the Swollen Eyeballs Network. Over the years I learned that they sent out messages randomly at any time, day or night. Scrolling down the screen I noticed that I had two messages. One being a question from a newbie agent, wanting to know which agents were researching ghosts and the undead. The other being the message that I had been waiting for for a few days now.

"Yes . . ." I hissed triumphantly, and opened the message.

_Agent Mothman,_

_The following meeting of the Swollen Eyeballs Network is to be held at the city convention hall next Thursday, beginning at 19:00pm. If you have any findings that you wish to present, respond with the details of your discoveries within twenty-four hours of the sending of this message. Please be reminded that you will require a signed permission form from your parent/guardian in order to attend._

_Agent Darkbootie_

The message had been sent almost sixteen hours prior, but as I had no findings I wished to present I moved to download the permission slip attachment, and began to print. The location of our meetings changed every time. I did not really know why, but I never had the nerve to ask, even though I was sure that Agent Darkbootie would tell me if I asked. He was the agent that I was in the most contact with; I had even met him once outside of our meetings. I took a gulp of soda, filled with a new excitement for next Thursday. I just hoped that I would be able to catch hold of Dad sometime before then. I left the permission form on the keyboard so that I would not forget it, and headed back downstairs.

Since I had no presentation to prepair or homework to complete I collected a second soda and switched the TV on. My fingers buzzed over the buttons on the remote control in search for something to watch. My favorite show,_ Mysterious Mysteries,_ was not on for another couple of hours, so instead I played a stupid movie about an alien invasion. I had seen this film when it came out at the movies two years prior; it was more of a dry-comedy than a thriller, but still relativly entertaining. I finished my cola and started on the next as I watched. The special effects were rather appalling and the story itself was terrible, but somehow it only added to the humor.

As the movie progressed my mind began to drift onto other things - the caffeine was not doing its job. Inevitably, my eyelids grew heavy and the darkness swallowed me up. When I opened my eyes again my senses exploded in an eruption of death and destruction. I gasped in horror, as the sound of sobbing and dying children burned in my ears. Beneath the blood-and-fire sky I spied a lonely little girl; the mirrored image of three-year-old Gaz, curled up in a fetal position and crying. I called to her softly, my arms reaching out to help her, only to find my hands slicked crimson. When I looked down I discovered my chest had been ripped open; I could_ see_ my own heart thumping inside me, branded with the Irken symbol. Overwhelming terror and agony burst free and suddenly I was on my knees, howling, utterly horrified at the sight of Irken ships soaring across the sky. Men and women and children were dying in the twisted flames that burned the flesh from their bones, leaving behind nothing but the charred skeletons, still echoing with the final screams of the dead. Through my boiling, streaming tears I looked upwards, and saw at the very top of the largest ship . . .

Zim. Roaring with triumphant laughter at the death around him. His eyes fixed upon mine, and a savage grin began to pull at his lips as he descended . . .

_"AAAHHH!"_ Failure escaped my mouth in an antagonized scream, and suddenly the death was gone. I was back in my living room with my empty soda cans and the scrolling credits of the finished movie to keep me company. Relief burst free in enormous gasps; I pressed a trembling hand to my chest to try and calm my racing heart, suprised to find how much I was sweating.

_Goddammit!_ Why the hell was Zim not at skool today?! What the hell was he plotting, for he had to be plotting something! Zim's skiving nearly always resulted in him unleashing a sudden and evil scheme. Before I even realised what was what I had leapt off of the couch and was charging towards the backdoor, ready to run all the way to Zim's house and put an end to his evil plot.

My fingers brushed against the doorknob, and reason began flooding back into my body. I stopped in my actions, allowing time for my mind to function properly and memories to return. Wasn't Keef intending to go to Zim's house right now? If Keef saw me then he'd want to know why; he was not completely stupid, and was bound to ask questions. Not to mention that Zim would never risk exposing himself by putting his plan into action in front of a human. I suddenly felt hot and foolish. I trudged over to the table and reached for another soda, this time pouring it into a glass and adding ice.

What the hell had I been thinking, acting like that all of a sudden? It had to be exhaustion, I decided - it had been a long day and I had slept badly last night. It was no wonder so many people labeled me as insane. I tipped the soda down my throat, the icy liquid soothing the raw flesh created when I had cried out in terror. I smacked my lips as I lowered the glass, feeling much better for it. I had often wondered if Zim would be so keen to destroy the planet, if he knew the truth of his mission.

"Nothing's going to happen. Zim is not plotting anything," I told myself firmly, breathing deeply, and how could it not be the case? Zim always bunked random days off skool. Tomorrow he would be back in classes as loud and obnoxious as always. Yes, of course he would be. He would not pass up the chance to thrash me in Phys Ed games.

. . . right?


	5. Chapter 4

**Oh, I forgot to mention, on deviantArt with each chapter are a series of images, if you wish to view them. They are not vital to the story, but they do exist if you want a better idea of how the characters look.**

* * *

The laughter. The repulsive, degrading laughter. Pointing at me, spitting at me, tearing at me. It was everywhere; invading my ears and streaming right into my brain, making it ring. It took every ounce of self control I owned not to scream.

"_Hahaha!_ What's wrong, little Dibby? You gonna _cry?_"

"He is! Look at him! What a pussy!"

"Aw . . . Poor baby!"

"He's looking at his boyfriend's chair! Sad that Zim's still not around, eh Dib?"

"He's frustrated, see? Missin' Zim, ain't ya, fag?" - Chunk's voice. I felt his powerful fist grasp my scythe-like lock and tug it. "Oi! I'm talking to you, bitch! I said, missing _Zim_, ain't _ya?!" _He pulled harder, forcing my head upwards until my neck creaked and I cried out. The laughter around me grew louder; I could feel my face growing hot with humiliation until I snapped, and rounded on Chunk.

"Stop pulling my hair, asshole. It ain't your dad's cock," I snarled, succeeding in pulling free of Chunk's grip. The laughter died in an instant; heads whipped around, gaping in horror at the audacity of my tongue. Chunk's reddening face was twisting with fury and embarrassment into something ugly, and before I even had a chance to sit back down his fist smashed into my cheek, knocking me to the ground. His silver skull ring ripped a hole in my face. The tender skin erupted into a purple-blossomed bruise as the blood burst forth, all in a single moment before the pain burned my flesh.

"How d'you like that, fruit-bowl?" gloated Chunk, raising his fist again. I could practically see him growing fat with pride on the cheers and sniggers gained by his actions as I picked myself up from the floor, caressing my sore cheek. I readied myself for another beating, firmly standing my ground and meeting him straight in the eye. No matter _what_ he threw at me, there was no way that I was going to back down. I was not so weak.

My tormentor's knuckles began to descend. Moments before impact, however, he froze, and suddenly leaped backwards into his seat. I blinked in shock, completely taken aback by his change of mind, even more so when I noticed my classmates copying his motions almost exactly. Just as I began to wonder what the hell was going on, a dark shadow swallowed up my form and understanding cold dread gripped right into the depths of my body.

"Dib Membrane. Why are you not in your seat?" That cold hissing sent goosebumps trembling a path all the way up my arms; I found it an enormous struggle to turn around and meet my tutor's gaze.

"I was just getting to that, Mr Cane," I replied in a voice that was meant to sound strong and unafraid, but my dry throat betrayed me. For once, my classmates did not sneer at me for it. Chunk Butcher was a pussy cat in comparison to our petrifying tutor.

"Well, get to it, Mr Membrane, before I put you in detention for the rest of your pitiful hi-skool life." Cane's cold voice was sharp enough to slice right through flesh. I fell into my chair instantly, temporarily relaxing my violate tutor's anger. He took his own place at the front desk just as I slammed my head into my own, ignoring all the whispers behind me about how the crazy kid was acting weirder than normal.

Trust _my _luck to start the skool day like this; I had already had a foul morning. Between Gaz throwing her cereal in my face for my drinking of the rest of the coffee, Dad not even bothering to say hi or bye to me, even though I had gotten up early especially to ask him to sign my permission slip,_ and _getting bitten on the walk to skool by my neighbor's new and highly aggressive bulldog, I wanted nothing more than to crawl back under my bed covers and sleep the day away.

My classmates were not completely wrong though. I was not missing Zim as such, but I had certainly lost sleep in regards to his whereabouts. He had not returned to skool on Thursday or Friday. I had not seen him all weekend ether, which was highly unusual since he generally utilized the weekends to gather information on human activities. Before the skool day began I had managed to catch ahold of Keef and ask him if he had seen Zim when he went round last Wednesday.

"No, he didn't answer the door. I hung about for an hour or so, but it didn't look as though anyone was in, so I left," he had said, trying to affect an air of carelessness, even though it was obvious he was gutted about it. I had not been sure whether to be impressed or uneasy by Keef's dedication in waiting for an hour.

"What about GIR? Did you happen to see GIR at all?" I asked, referring to Zim's psychotic robot minion. Of course, Keef simply thought that GIR was Zim's pet dog.

"Oh yes, I saw him briefly through the window eating tacos, but I don't think he saw me." It was this statement that made me so nervous. Zim was clearly around; he would never leave the planet, or city even, without GIR. At that point if it had not been for the fact that skool started in a few moments, I would have charged straight over to Zim's house and kicked his door in.

With my cheek now throbbing from Chunk's attack I was starting to wish that I had gone round after all. Mr Cane was now calling out the register, scowling every time he received an answer from any student; he had not even bothered to ask if I wanted to see the nurse about my cut. When he reached my name his lip curled, as though a bad smell had invaded the room. I answered grudgingly, trying the ignore the sniggers behind me.

_Brilliant. Just brilliant._

Physical bullying was something that I did not suffer a great deal from, and on the occasions I became its victim the spells were brief. Having been Gaz's punch bag since she was about five years old I was good at giving no reaction to my pain, and thus I was little fun to torment. The routine in regards to the name-calling was something else altogether: a play-out that both I and my tormentors had learned by heart. Most days their words did nothing to offend or upset me, but no matter how hard I tried, there would come a day when my foul mood defeated all reasoning, and I would snap at the bullies. Angry and stressed, my reaction was always over the top, and earned me nothing but the center point of the location everyone aimed their hateful laughter, and the promise that it would happen all over again the following day. I was left in an overflowing swamp of humiliation and loneliness, and in truth I would have preferred being punched and kicked to the emotional stabs. With registration concluded Cane slotted it into a drawer and started handing out quiz sheets without another word. I kept my eyes to the desk as I worked, wondering whether I would have the chance to sneak off and see the nurse before English Lit.

The silence was broken quite suddenly at the sound of the classroom door being forced open. I paid no attention to our intruder, until I heard Mr Cane speak in a most dangerous voice, "_So._ The almighty Zim decides to grace us with his presence."

Fast as a descending whip, my head lifted to find the Irken back, and standing in the doorway. Whether people had noticed my rapid reaction I did know or care; I was sure they were sniggering at Cane's sarcasm. Zim himself did not seem to notice that he was being laughed at as he groped his way over to his desk, only three seats away from mine. I craned my neck over in search for a his custom smugness, but met nothing because his head had drooped towards the desk.

Cane's knuckles rattled on the wood of Zim's desk. The reaction was instant: a tortured yelp screeched from Zim's mouth as he jumped so hard in his seat that he toppled backwards onto the floor. The class roared with laughter at the Irken's clumsiness. On the ground Zim carefully picked himself up and made a great and swift effort of brushing himself down. He did not yell at the class to cease their laughing. He did not even meet Cane's gaze. From my own desk I frowned.

_Something's not right. _

"That's enough!" roared the terrifying tutor, immediately the silencing the class. His gaze whipped around and burned straight into Zim, so hot and deadly that the Irken would ignite beneath his stare. "Zim, do you have a note explaining your absence last week?"

Clutching upon his arms, still looking to the ground, Zim slowly shook his head.

"You _will _bring one tomorrow, or you'll be screaming in the Underground classroom for the rest of the year. Do you understand?" The threat sunk hot and heavy in the air. The last time Cane handed out such a punishment the student in question ended up sentenced to the Crazy House for Boys. I could not believe that the Underground classroom scheme had not been eliminated.

"Okay . . ." The sound that escaped from Zim's mouth was barely even audible. From head to toe he was trembling so badly that it was a wonder he was even able to stand up. It was clearly a challenge for him as sat down again fairly quickly. Now satisfied that Zim was chastised and put in his proper place, Cane subsided, placing a questionnaire before Zim and returning back to the front desk.

"Back to work, all of you!" Cane barked, causing heads the fall down and pens to touch the paper once more. Though I turned my head away I kept looking over to Zim through the corner of my eye, the gears in my brain suddenly working overtime. Something was _definately_ not right.

For the longest time Zim had had it just as bad as me in terms of bullying, and how could he not? With all his screaming and bizarre use of phrases and dress sense he had certainly attracted unwanted attention. But coming to the end of middle-skool all that changed. All at once his outbursts ceased. He still screamed more often than he spoke, and continued his strange way with words, yet somehow he managed to pull it off. A change to his wardrobe had certainly helped too. At skool his signature Invader uniform was discarded, in favor of an almost Gothic-like attire. From his shoulders downwards he covered himself completely in black; although his sweaters often depicted the sigial of his people, embroidered in ether red or magenta to match his spiked collar and waist belt, and of course his ever present PAK remained. His boots were a recent addition, added upon returning from the Xmas break: black, of course, with enormous soles and steal toes, attached with buckles and metal spikes. I had assumed that he opted for this style of fashion because it enphersised his evil intentions, without giving the game away. But today, even in his aggressive blacks he did not look evil or threatening. He did not posses his usual aura of casual arrogance. Today he looked so . . . there was no other way to describe it - _lost_.

My questionnaire had been completely abandoned now, all my attention stolen away by Zim. He was hunched right over his own question sheet, curled into the desk as far as physically possible, as though that would somehow protect him from the world around him. His violet contact-covered eyes looked bigger than normal, as wide and bright as a frightened rabbit caught in a car-light. His hands were shaking as wrote. As Zim only had two fingers and a thumb on each hand his writing was somewhat scruffy as it was; I perished to think how it looked now, caught in his trembling grasp. And was it just me, or did he look thinner than normal? Zim had always been rather slender, but today . . . I do not know if it was the trick of the light or what, but his sweater certainly looked baggier than it did last I saw him. Everything about him was just_ not_ Zim, and somehow that only put me on edge even more than his absence had. In reality, I would have preferred for him to return to skool as his normal self instead of this subdued shell. I was inclined to distrust anything out of the ordinary in regards to that Irken.

_"Psst!_ Eyein' up Zim, are we, Dib?" someone behind me hissed, promptly causing a chorus of chuckles to break out. Behind my back I flipped my middle finger, then briskly retracted and lowered my head again, pretending that I was working on my questionnaire.

After what seemed like the longest time - save for maybe Wednesdays - the bell rang, signalling for first period. Once again, the sudden sound caused Zim to jump in shock, although this time he managed not to fall out of his seat. He recovered quick as a wink, and promptly ceased his belongings and dashed from the classroom in record-breaking time, leaving the remaining twenty-six members of his tutor group behind him, utterly bamboozled.

"What a freak," someone said as the scraping of chairs and mocking conversations began sounding all throughout the classroom. No one even thought to give me a second thought or glance, or even care that, as I started to gather my own belongings, I was staring directly in the seat that Zim had previously occupied, my heart thumping wildly inside my ribcage, every other part of my body deathly tense.

_Good God, what the hell's he up to?_

* * *

**If you want a better idea of what Zim's sexy boots look like, the image is on my DA account along with this chapter**


	6. Chapter 5 (part 1)

The scent of freshly cooked lasagne and garlic bread traveled down the line of students waiting for their lunch, prompting the rapid opening of wallets and snatching up of trays in desperation not be left with the less appealing selection of hi-skool canteen food.

From my own isolated table I prodded my fork into my plate of food, but not actually eating. My gaze was rested across the other side of the hall to where Zim sat, also isolated, his head down, not looking at anything in particular. There were very few human foods that Zim could consume, but at around the same time his wardrobe had changed the Irken had taken to bringing a packed lunch with him to skool, most likely to divert attention from his lack of eating. The food he brought with him looked human enough, but I had guessed that they were Irken equivalents as they never seemed to make him sick. Today he had no lunch. He merely sat there almost completely still, one arm hugging his chest as though to protect him from the goings on around him, the other rested upon the table. A single long and slender finger drew small, slow circles on the surface. His false eyes fixated on his work, as though it was the most engaging thing in the world.

I frowned over my meal, my appetite none existent. What the hell was Zim playing at? All day he had been acting strangely; far too quiet and shut away than Zim had any right to be. Not once had he made any kind of obnoxious outburst; not even when Jess had laughed at his appalling hand writing. He had not screamed, or made any noise at all since this morning, and to be honest, it was putting me on edge. In the six years that Zim had been on Earth I could not recall any time when he had acted in this manner. He had made many changes to himself in the past few years, but nothing this drastic, and every other time Zim had opted to make any kind of change I immediately became exceedingly nervous.

When an older student - who's name I did not know - moved in his direction he moved too, quite suddenly, and fast enough to make a few people, including myself, jump. He pushed himself up from the table and departed from the hall in brisk strides, now hugging with both his arms.

Abandoning my lasagne I sided over to Gaz, sat a few tables from me with members of the Game Slave club, and grabbed at her shoulder before she could move away. "Take it off or I'll break it off," snarled my volatile sister. Hastily, I removed my hand. "Good," she approved. "Now piss off."

"Hey, Gaz, I'll go in a minute. I just want to know what you think of Zim." I said, reasonably enough.

Looking up from her Game Slave Gaz flashed me a deadly look, then sighed, and glanced towards the door, catching a glimpse of the Irken before he left the hall. " . . . Sexy boots he's got there," she said admiringly, and returned to her game.

It was my turn to sigh. "No, Gaz. I mean, what d'you think of his attitude? Don't you think he's acting strangely?"

"I live with you, fag. No one is strange to me anymore. Now clear off before I break you." This time round I took the threat seriously and backed away. Gaz did not pass me a second glance, and for that I was grateful. When we were children she packed a good punch; now that we were older she was more than capable of breaking my arm. Her Monday and Saturday Judo classes of the past two years saw to that. I retreated back to my own seat to gather up my tray and left the hall after Zim, stopping briefly to give my paid-for food to a younger, and extremely emaciated student who could not afford a lunch.

My head spun around in search for the Irken but he was long gone; clearly he was much faster than I had first anticipated. I growled a curse between my teeth and snared the attention of little group of three fifteen year old girls, who started giggling as soon as I approached them. "I don't suppose you saw which way Zim went, do you? You know, the green kid," I asked them, ignoring their stupid, simpering giggles.

The girls blushed, and giggled harder than before. I rolled my eyes heavily. Giggling should be illegal. I was about to move away when one of the braver girls stepped forwards from her friends. "Oh, sure. He went round there somewhere." She gestured vaguely to the end of the corridor, towards the right. "But forget about him. Why don't you hang out with us?" Planting one hand on a slender hip the girl tossed her long blonde hair, and flashed me a would-be seductive smile. My lip curled upwards in disgust at her obvious attempt at flirting. It was revolting. She may as well have been wearing nothing but a sign saying 'I'm easy'.

"Sorry girls. Not interested," I said, and jogged away before they could start throwing abuse in my face for not taking them up on their offer. Sluts like that made me sick. And why was it that only slutty girls ever seemed to be attracted to me? In some ways Zim was so lucky - he never received attention of that sort from ether gender. Not because of his supposed skin condition, but because of his unpredictable temper. He did not look it but Zim was incredibly strong. Stronger than me, for certain; he was strong enough to throw Chunk Butcher over his shoulder. He had actually done that, on the first day of hi-skool, prompting Chunk and every other bully to never bother him again.

The route I had been directed down was a corridor empty of everything save a few lockers and the restrooms. Admittedly I was confused. I did not know whether or not Irkens excreted waste; if they did Zim was not stupid enough to do so at skool, but there was nowhere else he could possibly be. What the hell was up to, that he felt the need to hide in a place that was completely isolated? For these restrooms were never occupied during lunch hour, as they were utilized during lesson times for the darker crowd of students to use as a hiding place. Filled with great unease I reached for handle, only to pull back immediately as the door swung open from the inside.

"Zim!"

His head lifted at the sound of his name, but his eyes would not meet mine. He just stared straight ahead, right through me, as though I was not there. But he must have known of my presence, because his breathing harshened, as though he suddenly had trouble getting enough air, all the while hugging his arms so tightly that it looked as though he was going to suffocate himself.

This was just way too over the top.

"Don't think that I'm not wa-"

And then he was gone. As sudden as he had left the canteen he spun on his heels and sped off in the direction he had come in. I contemplated chasing after him to find out what he was up to, but then I had a better idea, and pushed my way into the restroom.

The inside walls stank so strongly of cannabis and stale alcohol that I had to wonder why the janitors had not reported it to the skool governors. Cupping a hand over my mouth I began to explore my surroundings. Aside from the abnormal stench there was nothing out of the ordinary; five toilet cubicles (the inside walls plastered in graffiti), three urinals, and five sinks. I checked everything, looking for something, _anything_, that would shed some kind of light onto Zim's bizarre new plot. To no avail. Looking upwards to the dusty pipes beneath a sink I sighed, and stood back up. I did not know what to think anymore. I could not believe for a minute that Zim's presence in a room he did not require was innocent, yet with no evidence of nefarious activities I was unable to confront him. Irritated at my lack of findings I turned to leave, when something caught my eye. I leaned in for a closer look.

It was caught on the rim of the sink; a tiny drop of an unknown blue substance. An alien chemical, maybe? Or something more than that? I hesitated for a moment, and then decided that mankind was worth the risk, and pressed my little finger to the drop, whipping my hand back immediately, bracing myself for the burning agony.

Nothing. No pain, no stripping of the flesh from bone. With my wildly thumping heart starting to calm I brought my finger to my face and sniffed the drop. It effected a very strange scent that was almost impossible to explain; sweet, it was definitely sweet. But there was something else too. Something very . . . odd. I moved my finger downwards to my lips, fully prepared to taste it, but then another, and much smarter idea came to me. I retracted myself into a cubicle and snapped off a few squares of toilet roll. I pressed the substance into the paper and waited a few moments, before folding it up and slipping it into my pocket. I made sure to thoroughly wash my hands free of the unknown liquid before leaving the restrooms, just incase it was toxic after all.

I suddenly felt extremely thirsty. I checked the time on my cell phone: 13:47pm. I still had time to grab a soda before my next class. Heading off in the direction of the canteen with my treasure in my pocket I found it difficult to suppress a smile. My meeting with the Swollen Eyeballs was this Thursday; I could show it to them at least, maybe they could shed some light on what on Earth it was. The only pebble in my path now was Dad, and trying to catch him before then to sign my form.

* * *

**This is a long chapter, hence why I am splitting it into two halves**


	7. Chapter 5 (part 2)

If anybody ever asks my dad if he has any regrets in life, I hope to God that he says, 'neglecting my children', because at least then I will know that he actually acknowledged our existence.

Under normal circumstances I do not even have to try to avoid him; he leaves the house so early in the morning and comes back so late that Gaz and I are nearly always asleep, but for the past few days I had actually been trying to see him. I had even sacrificed hours of my precious sleep time waking up early and going to bed late in my efforts to get him to sign my form, yet somehow he always evaded me. I had hoped amongst hope that I would not have to resort to visiting him at the TV station, but with only a short time left before the Swollen Eyeballs meet up I was desperate.

"I'm here to see Professor Membrane," I told the bouncers standing guard outside the station. The largest of the two eyed me beadily as though I was something that the cat had puked up, mentally sizing me up.

"He's far too busy to be handing out autographs willy-nilly, kid. Now get off the property before we kick your ass off," snapped the larger, his lip curling. The shorter took a step forwards, ready to manhandle me if necessary. I frowned in annoyance; I had dealt this this kind of bullying before, and there was no way they were going to scare me off that easy.

"I'm his _son._ Dib Membrane," I returned, flashing them my ID. They leaned in for a better examination, looking carefully for any signs of falseness. When they realized that it, and I, were real their faces cracked into identical, evil grins.

"Oh yeah! I remember you! How's the alien next-door?" the shorter sneered, and then burst out laughing alongside his companion. I could feel my face beginning to redden, but I stood my ground. I was not an eleven year old kid that they could scare away anymore.

"Just let me past already," I snapped, then paused, before saying, "or would you rather I phone my dad and explain to him exactly _why_ you won't let him see his own son?" My trump card worked beautifully. The guards' faces melted into fury, but they still unlocked the door and stood aside for me. "Thank you," I said, and strode by. I needed no directions from anyone; I knew exactly where I was going, even though it had been years since last I came here. In fact, the last time I was here I was after exactly the same thing. I needed a signed permission form anytime there was a meet-up of the Swollen Eyeballs because I was not yet of age. It was funny, all my classmates looked forward to turning eighteen so that they could move out of their parents' house, and buy cigarettes and pornographic magazines. _I _looked forward to becoming eighteen so that I no longer had to get Dad's permission to meet with my fellow Paranormal Investigators.

_Just ten more months to go, Dib._

I rattled my knuckles on the door of his dressing room and waited for his response. I used to get really nervous over this waiting, I still did, really, I was just better at hiding it now. He answered after a short moment. I took a deep breath and pushed my way in.

Dad's dressing table faced the wall, with his back to me. I cleared my throat and closed the door. "Hi Dad, it's only me. I was wondering if I could ask a favor?"

Faster than I anticipated Dad spun around. His arm shot out and slapped my shoulder, causing me to yelp in shock, but he ignored it. "But of course! It's good to see you, son! What can I do for you?"

I very much doubted that it was good to see me; he was probably only saying that because it was the right thing to say. I shrugged away from his affection, uncomfortable from the display of emotion, and fished the form from my pocket. "Well, the thing is, I want to meet with some friends in a bit, but in order to go I need a signed permission slip from a parent. D'you mind?" I held out the form, my free hand fingering my ear piercings as I often did when I was nervous.

"Of course I don't, son! I'll sign it now, shall I?" He snatched the form from my grasp and leaned onto his dressing table to sign his name. I sighed with relief. I had been mentally practicing what I was going to say to him for the past half hour. I knew that any mention of paranormal investigating or the Swollen Eyeballs would automatically result in him saying no, and rewarding me with a lecture about 'real science'. By being as vague as possible, as making it seem that I wanted to socialize it kept Dad happy. He thought that I really did have friends, and I was not completely lying. Everyone was happy that way.

"Here you are!" said Dad with somewhat of a false relish, handing me my second treasure. He noticed at that point that I had exchanged my usual t-shirt and jacket for a smarter coat, shirt and tie; the sight of this made him grin. "Off to impress a girl, are we?"

Since when did my dad give a damn about my life? Not at all apparently, else he would remember the news I had presented to him a short while ago. I slid the form into my pocket with a silent groan. "No, Dad. I'm gay, remember? I told you this like, two years ago."

"Oh yes, of course I remember." Dad dropped the pen onto his desk, his previous false enthusiasm long since shot dead. "Well, if that's it, son . . ? I'm rather busy, you see."

I ground my teeth together, tightening my fists simultaneously so that I would not smack him in the face. I was certainly angered enough to do so. "Yes. That's it, thank you. I'll see you later," I snapped thickly through my teeth, and was out of the door again before I said something that I would regret.

Honestly, I should not have been surprised about my Dad's attitude anymore, but somehow it manged to piss me off every time. He had not asked how I was, or if Gaz was doing well. He had not even been concerned as to where I was going or who I was meeting with! The fact that I needed a signed permission form would make most parents believe that their child was going to a night club or some place of that nature, but _oh no_, not _my _dad. He probably would not care if I told him I was off to pimp my bitches. I had never been entirely sure as to his thoughts on my sexuality ether. When I first told him that I was gay he did not seem interested in the slightest. 'Good for you, son,' was all he had said, and continued on with his work.

Dad's lax attitude towards me and Gaz had truly begun the day Mom died. Back then I did not understand why Dad suddenly threw himself into his work as though nothing had changed. As I grew older I learned that the death of my mom had effected him more than he let on, and work was a distraction from the pain. I had tried to sympathize with him over it, but it was impossible. At that point in his life his first duty should have been to me and Gaz, and ensuring that we were both getting on well despite the devastation. But no. He may as well of dumped the pair of us at a foster home - at least there we would have been cared for. As long as I live I will never forgive my dad for leaving us to fend for ourselves. Because of him I have not only lost my mother, but my sister too, for Gaz will forever resent me for not being the parent she had expected me to be. Because of him, I have no relationship with any member of my family.

As I pushed my way out of the TV station grounds the cool January air felt far too cold on my face, and I was surprised to find that I was crying. I hastily wiped my eyes before anyone noticed, wondering what to do next. The time on my phone said that I still had almost an hour and a half before the meeting. The convention hall was on the other side of the city; I had more than enough money for a taxi, but I needed time to clear my head. Touching the hem of my pocket to ensure the permission form and the blue sample were safe within, I slipped my cell phone into the depths of my coat and started to walk.

* * *

**Just to point out, Membrane is not angry or upset over his son's sexuality - the subject just makes him a little uneasy**


	8. Chapter 6

**Oh,**_** I forgot to mention that this story is not just ZADR themed, but focuses upon three major ideas, one of which I have already introduced. That is the specific relationship between Dib and his family (his dad and Gaz). So there will be points within the story that may seem like unrelated filler, but it is all part of how this particular fanfic flows. I will mention the themes as they appear. Now, enough from me. Onwards with Chapter 6!**_

* * *

_"By the moons and the stars and the planets beyond, be it known that my investigations exist only to serve the prosperity of mankind. We are the Swollen Eyeballs, the hidden knowledge of the Earth. Our eyes seeing what others do not, in service for the sake of the human race."_

Every seat within the convention hall had been claimed by the attending members of the day's meeting. With our opening vow concluded we could finally take our seats and allow Agent Nailbunny to give his usual opening welcome, and launch straight into his own presentation. From my own chair near to back of the hall I could still hear the goings on fairly well. The long walk over from the TV station had tired me out, so I was grateful for the chance to rest my legs. Despite the aching pain a smile was etched into my face. I could still remember the first time I had ever spoken our vow, back when I had just been excepted into the Swollen Eyeballs Network. I had been so excited and surprised that day; to be actually welcomed into a group was something I had never experienced before - the feeling was wonderful. The Network did not even appear to mind that I was only ten years old at the time. At seventeen I was still the youngest member in the US, but I had met with a few people who were only in their twenties or thirties. I think there were about forty thousand or so members in the US, and over a million worldwide. The smile etched deeper into my face at this thought; it was nice to know that I was not the only person who believed in the paranormal.

Every agent had been allocated a certain amount of time in which to present their findings, so that the meeting would not run into the next morning. Since I had no presentation of my own to show I could relax and take notes, and listen eagerly to the new discoveries made by my fellow Eyeballs. One day _I _would be the one up on the podium, standing above crowd, above my life-long tormentors. Showing off to the world that I had been right all along about Zim, that I was not crazy after all. In the depths of my pocket was the sample I had taken from the skool sink three days prior - a single step closer to the dream that I had craved for six long years now. My fingers caressed the thin paper as they would a lover's skin - had there ever been one - growing desperate for a chance to inquire for some help in its identification.

A round of applause from my fellow agents snapped me out of a daydream with a start. I jumped slightly in my seat and checked my notes, disappointed to find how little work I had done. For the moment being I pushed Zim out of my mind and focused on note-taking as one by one the agents came forth to give their presentations. Every so often I would pause in my writing and glance around the room in search of Agent Darkbootie, but it was redundant. Members of the Swollen Eyeballs liked to remain anonymous; everyone in the hall, including myself, was wearing a high-neck coat and hat, which covered most of the face. Even when members spoke to one another over video link the technology distorted our faces and voices somewhat. This was another practice that I did not fully understand, but again, I never questioned it.

It had gone nine thirty by the time the final presentation concluded. From here the agents piled into the room next door, where there were refreshments and a chance for us converse with one another. My mouth started to water; I was starving. I had not eaten all day and the long walk to the convention hall had drained my energy. I filled my plate almost to overflowing point and pocketed a couple of cans of Poop, and immediately set about searching for Darkbootie. With faces covered you could only identify each person by the unique sigial embroidered into everyone's coat; the image mimicking their Network name. My own sigial, a dark red moth, displayed itself proudly upon my left breast. Every so often an agent would recognize my symbol and approach me to exchange pleasantries. I kept my answers short and polite, and moved along briskly, but carefully too, so that my untouched food would not tip over.

It seemed like hours later before I spotted Agent Darkbootie's sigial - a black silhouette of a man set upon a white moon - nestled amongst a small gathering of lifelong investigators, and approached, feeling just slightly uneasy. Darkbootie was a very revered agent; he was the man responsible for inviting most new members into the Network - including me. I stood on the edge of the group and waited in silence; far too nervous to draw attention to myself, as such an action would only earn me upset food and filthy looks, and _lose _me the chance of conversing with Darkbootie.

Eventually the older agent spotted me in the crowd and excused himself. I could not help but feel rather honored that such an admired agent actually wanted to talk with me. "Agent Mothman," he greeted, shaking my free hand. "It is good to see you again. I was surprised that you did not have a presentation for us today. Any specific reason?"

I waited for him to let go of my hand before speaking. "It is good to see you too. Your presentation on Transylvanian vampires was most enlightening."

"It was a thesis for the new members." Darkbootie waved his hand in a very modest fashion, then narrowed his gaze. "But you are yet to answer my question. Does your alien investigation go well, or are you at a wall?"

I was glad that Darkbootie was the first to mention Zim, as I would have felt most embarrassed in bringing the subject up. "I'm not stuck, as such . . ." I said, choosing my words carefully. "But as you mentioned it, I have found something that I think might be important. I don't really know what it is, and I don't want to draw much attention to it incase it's worthless. I was wondering if I could get a more experienced opinion . . ?"

Darkbootie considered for a moment before nodding. I thrust my plate at him so that it would not upset, and fished the sample from my pocket. After exchanging items Darkbootie carefully unwrapped the folds and studied the blue drop within. I held my breath as he looked on, eager and concerned for his analysis.

"Why have you not studied it yourself?" Agent Darkbootie asked after a few moments, his gaze remaining on the sample.

"Um, well, my skool teachers are currently obsessed with giving us loads of homework ready for exam season, even though it's months away. I just haven't had the time, really, " I said awkwardly, still anticipating his judgment.

It seemed like hours had passed before Darkbootie finally looked back to me, carefully considering. He dropped his arm and pointed to my piled plate. "Are you willing to share?"

I nodded.

"Then come." Spinning on his heel Darkbootie turned, and moved towards the exit with a speed surprising for a man of his age; I almost had to jog in order to keep up. Other agents greeted us as we walked by; Darkbootie merely raised a hand in lazy acknowledgment without stopping. Behind the collar of my coat I grinned. He led me around the back of the convention hall and into the rear car-park. "Just there," he said, gesturing to his black Phord. As he opened up the vehicle I balanced the plate of food on the roof and started ripping the meat off of a chicken drumstick, suddenly ravenous. From the trunk of the car Darkbootie withdrew a microscope and began setting it up, pausing every so often to help himself to sausage rolls and sandwiches. I passed him a can of soda.

"So what makes you think that this sample is important?" inquired the older agent around a mouthful of tuna-mayo, laying my precious sample carefully beside his equipment. He had removed his collar and hat so that he could move with ease. It mattered naught, as I already knew what he looked like.

Licking chicken grease from my fingers I replied, "I found it in an abandoned restroom at hi-skool, just after the alien had been in there. He's . . ." I paused, searching for the right words. " . . . been acting strange lately."

"Strange in what way?" Darkbootie's head lowered to slide the sample into place.

I hesitated again, dropping the chicken bone, unsure what to do or say. After a brief moment I decided that maybe a more experienced opinion was what I needed in this case too, and began to explain of Zim's bizarre change of character, starting right from the day he had not turned up for hi-skool. The more I spoke the easier the words came, and the more I realized that I was right in not trusting the Irken's behavior. Everything about him over these past four days was just far too cordial to trust.

By the time I finished speaking Darkbootie was gazing at the blue sample through his microscope, humming thoughtfully, although I was unsure whether because of the sample or my story. "I see . . . and you're sure that this belongs to your alien?"

I nodded, and took a swig of soda. "No doubt about it. Those restrooms are only ever used by skivers to hide and do drugs, and I'm pretty sure that's not marijuana residue."

"You've got that right." Darkbootie lifted his head. My heart missed a beat when I noticed his grave expression. "Fetch me a piece of grass." He gestured to the sidewalks around the car park, where isolated patches of grass grew through the cracks. I put down my soda and went to retrieve one, only slightly confused.

"What d'you need it for?" I asked, handing him the long thin blade.

Darkbootie's response was not to speak, but to carefully extract the sample from beneath the light of his microscope and press the blade of grass against the blue drop. I leaned closer, and in the light given off by his car it was all to clear for me to see. At first nothing . . . and then without warning the green piece shivered, and withered and died. In a single motion it disintegrated into nothingness, right between Darkbootie's fingers.

My jaw dropped to ground in utter horror.

"Your alien has a very dangerous substance in his possession, Agent Mothman," said Darkbootie.


	9. Chapter 7 (part 1)

_**I know that this part seems like pointless filler, but bear with me. Without it, part 2 will seem rushed, and like there are parts missing. Everything in this story serves a purpose.**_

* * *

Oxygen starvation? Wildfires? Imbalance of the food-chain? What the_ hell_ was that Irken plotting?

Needless say I had never before in my life been filled with such a terror as what I experienced in the weeks following my confrontation with Agent Darkbootie. I knew that the whispers around me were _about _me; the underlining guesses and rumors of why the crazy kid was acting stranger than normal. They did not matter. Nothing mattered anymore, save for uncovering the mysterious plot currently underway.

My old childhood habits of spying almost permanently on Zim were starting to fall back into place. Trying to watch him at all times whilst still maintaining good grades, so not to draw attention to myself, was extremely difficult, but somehow, amongst everything, I managed to pull it off. It counted for almost nothing among my classmates of course, who immediately identified my renewed obsession and automatically labeled me as a stalker in heat. I brushed aside their insults as a chimp brushes away its fleas, and saved my energies onto the focus that had been thrust upon me since the day the Invader had arrived on Earth.

But despite my utmost care and attention on the matter in hand I could not seem to capture the alien in the midst of evil. Nothing of his behavior changed over the upcoming days, save for him becoming more isolated and shut away. To the eyes of everyone else Zim was slowly sinking deeper and deeper into depression. Where a few short weeks ago he would scream at almost everyone, and unleash a casual aura of shear arrogance; now he hardly spoke at all, save to answer his name when the register was called out. He moved about the skool with a swiftness to rival the hunting cat; his arms remained constantly wrapped around his body, though this surely did nothing to protect him from the goings on around him. He did not laugh anymore ether. Or smile. I had not seen him smile since the day before he had not turned up for skool. Not even when Torque Smacky slipped on a puddle of soda on the canteen floor - a feat that would normally have the Irken roaring hysterically at the weak human's knee caps. But no, not this time. Not even a slight tug at his lips.

Sometimes, much to my disdain, I found myself watching the Irken through a two-way screen. From one side I saw Zim for what he really was; an evil, psychopathic alien invader hell-bent on seeing through the destruction of the human race. Yet on the other side I realized that some part of me was actually starting _believe_ Zim, and even feel _sorry _for him. Later on when I recalled what I had been thinking I would slap myself back into reality. But during those times when I pitied him every ounce of reason fled my mind in an instant. It was only during these moments that I was one with my classmates and teachers, for even the _staff _had fallen for Zim's intense ploy. The week following my meeting with the Swollen Eyeballs gave revelation to this.

Third and forth period on Thursdays was reserved for Phys Ed - easily Zim's best lesson, and why would it not be? He was after all a trained warrior, taught for almost his whole life how to fight, survive and keep on moving. But on that day as we lined up outside the changing rooms Zim did not join us; instead he approached the coach with a signed note from I did not know who. He thrust it straight at the coach and waited in silence as she read it through. The rest of the class had gone silent, anticipating Coach Cross's judgment on the strange student's actions.

"Very well, Zim. You can go," was all Cross said, and in an instant Zim had fled down the corridor, the boot-cut jeans he wore in place of the skinny ones balancing on the point of his hip as he moved. Whispers erupted out amongst my classmates as we were hurried into the changing rooms to get ready for circuit training. Since coming out I had been forced by both the students and the coaches to get changed in a separate cubicle, for which I was grateful, as I had always felt extremely uncomfortable in stripping down in front of everyone else. But the price to pay was that I was always late to the class, for the cubicles were located at the far end of the changing rooms, thus it was no surprise to me that the main section was completely isolated by the time I left my separate stall. As I started down towards the gym I passed by Coach Cross's office, and suddenly felt myself freeze in place. I peered inside. Amongst many other papers was the note that Zim had thrust into Cross.

It took me less than a second to decide on my course of actions, and sneak inside the office. I did not dare pick the note up incase it was noticed that the other papers had been shuffled, so I settled for leaning across the desk to read:

_In the interest of the student's well being, it has been decided that Zim should not take part in any form of Physical Education until such time he is seen fit.  
Signed: Mr R Buspar  
_  
Buspar? The skool counselor? Zim was seeing the skool _counselor_? What the hell for? How could I _possibly _be the only one to see through Zim's ridiculous act? I cannot count the numerous times I overheard different students express their pitying opinion of the Irken - how sad he looked, how much thinner he looked . . . Upon hearing these declarations I desired little more than to slap some sense into them. Sometimes, I really despaired for the human race. Could they not remember all the times Zim had announced his hatred for our very existence? Anyone can look sad if they hug their body tightly and pout; anyone can give off the illusion that they are loosing weight if the hide their body behind thick sweaters and two-sizes-too-big-for-his-frame jeans. Sure, he never ate during the lunch break, but then again he had never eaten back in elementary and most of middle skool. Not in the skool itself at least. I had captured footage on my hidden cameras of him eating in his base countless times (not that I could tell anyone of course, else I would end up being thrown into the Crazy House for Boys again - a prospect I was eager to avoid).

I was yet to confront Zim about the blue sample I had taken from the abandoned restrooms; first I wanted to catch him in possession of it, else he could easily claim that he did not know what I was talking about. But trying to keep track of the Irken was proving more difficult than I thought. He was fast, faster than I thought. I had to only look away for a brief moment and he would vanish, not appearing again until it was time to return to class, and even then he was miles away. With his head down and one arm wrapped around his body he worked in silence, not even bothering to acknowledge the voice of our lecturer. His act was over the top and I could see all too clearly that he was reaching the end of his tether with this plan. I could see every little twitch he made, hear every time he clacked his tongue or ground his zipper-like teeth together. Whenever any of these flinches were released I could not help but grin. Zim had clearly bitten off far more than he could chew with this particular plan, and sooner or later he was going to crack.

* * *

_**Look forward to part 2 - God knows I am :D**_


	10. Chapter 7 (part 2)

***  
As the class settled down to work individually on the set experiment, the teacher took the moment of peace to depart from the room for whatever reason she possessed. The instant she vanished there was black rush darting across the third desk down from me, only to return to his lap again just as briskly. I caught the wave through the corner of my eye, and pushed myself to my feet.

"Hey! What d'you just put in your pocket?"

As the class broke into groans at my outburst did Zim's head whip upwards to meet my burning gaze. His own false eyes were big and bright, almost effecting an air of curiosity, but I could see his gloved fingers holding onto the folds of his jeans pocket.

"Oh God, he's off again."

"Bloody hell, Dib, just let it go already."

"Oh, go die in a fire, all of you," I snapped at my piers, keeping my sight fixed upon the Irken. "Well then, Zim? Answer me, for God's sake!" With the teacher out of the classroom the situation had resorted to a matter of students battling amongst themselves, and sorting out their own issues by any means necessary. There was no figure of authority around to prevent me from interrogating Zim, and despite their protests I was confident that the others behind me were actually enjoying the show.

" . . . Zim . . . does not know what you are talking about," Zim mumbled after a while, his head drooping downwards again. With his protective gloves now discarded, one arm had returned to the now common place of clinging to his body. As his head returned to his desk the other hand reached out for a pen, and started doodling upon the book he was meant to be utilizing for taking notes on his experiment.

From my desk I found it impossible to suppress a bark of laughter. "Yeah, sure you don't. And I'm the most popular student. Have we met?" I snarled in response, my tone dripping sarcasm, my head pounding aggression beyond bearing. Across the other side of the room Zim sat frozen in place, chewing on the collar of his black sweater, as if made uneasy by the unleash of fury that had been launched towards him. Whimpers affecting an air of an injured puppy were forced out from between his tightly closed lips, and in a burst of adrenalin he darted from his chair into the corridor outside, the points of his sharp elbows brushing into the arms of our returning lecturer, who called after him, to no avail.

"Why did he just leave?" The teacher demanded of us. I tried to keep my gaze upon my desk so that my eyes would not betray me; it mattered naught, for my classmates were the betrayers. Even though I sat at in the front row I could see, _feel_, the pointing of accusing fingers aimed in my direction.

"What a fine example of skool spirit you are, Mr Membrane. For that one you can clean up Zim's experiment _right now. _And take his belongings to him at the end of class." The words that spilled from the teacher's fat wormy lips coaxed sniggers from my classmates and a look of pure poison from the teacher. Even though Zim was not popular even amongst the staff, in all honesty I could fully appreciate her anger. A week and a day had passed since my discovery of Zim's appointments with the skool therapist, and since then his acts of depression had only ran deeper. It was a miracle that the Irken had even shown up to a Biology class; he normally bunked off the Friday forth period lesson.

Silently growling through my teeth, I abandoned the frog I was meant to be dissecting and went to clean the failed experiment from Zim's desk. His own frog had been appallingly hacked into, a feat which did not go unnoticed by the vicious students behind me, who broke into hushed whispers at the sight of the mass of bloody tissue. I dropped his gloves into the tub at the front of the class and returned to Zim's desk in order to clean his tools and collect the belongings he had left behind. One of the thinner scalpel blades appeared to be missing, alongside the forceps. I had to bite on my tongue to prevent myself from pointing this out as I deposited the remaining equipment into the classroom sink. The fact that Zim was stealing_ dissecting tools _of all things, would most defiantly go unnoticed by the blind teacher and students if I mentioned it, simply because it was _me. _

Suppressing my rush of unease I placed the clean equipment into the corrects boxes and moved to collect Zim's belongings. As I took my seat I found it impossible to fail to notice the lack of notes made in regards to his frog, but in the place of any such knowledge gained on the subject was a small drawing in the top right corner of his note book. On the whole Zim was not a bad artist; I had very little trouble depicting his drawing.

A rose. An ordinary Earth rose drawn through use of a blue Biro. A single pair of Irken hands stretched across the page; one holding onto the flower whilst the other mercilessly ripped the petals away, clawed with a wicked extravagance that no one of his race had any right to own. Surrounding the hands, a ring of beautifully immaculate roses, just waiting to be torn apart. My mouth had turned into a desert - dry, and barren of all sound and wetness.

A blue rose. Blue. Blue as the deadly substance I found in the bathroom more than two weeks ago. Blue as the identifying color of my favorite t-shirt. My hand drifted downwards and fingered its hem, suddenly wishing that I had not eaten half a packet of jelly babies during recess.

At that very moment the bell signalling the start of lunch break erupted to life, sucking me back into reality with an unpleasant jolt. "Put your gloves in the tub at the front and leave your frogs on your desks, if you please. Then wash your hands before going to lunch," called out the teacher, speedily prompting the immediate flow of students coursing across the room to complete their task, all in a desperate rush to escape the classroom. It was no surprise to me that I was pushed to the back of the crowd; I stood back and waited in silence for the group to disperse from the room, allowing me plenty of space. I was the last to leave the Biology room, clutching both my own and Zim's belongings to my chest. Finding myself with little appetite I set about searching for the Irken; images of blood-soaked death burning behind my eyes.

_Blue. Blue. What the hell's with his obsession with the color blue?_

I found Zim sat outside upon one of the picnic benches, hugging his knees to his chest. Looking at nothing, doing nothing. With a screech of terror he fell out of his seat as I slapped his belongings on the table before him. "And you can drop the act, Space-Boy. You ain't fooling me," I growled, reaching the end of my patience with him. I could not understand how he was able to keep up this act for so long, especially in front of me. Even now he put on a great display of picking himself up from the ground. His head lifted, but did not quite meet my eyes. His own falsely colored orbs enormous and bright and blinking.

Sudden as a storm my face began to burn; ignited by his oddly attractive gaze. I hissed though my teeth, annoyed at my own teenage hormones, abruptly unsettled because of it. I leaned towards him then; over the years we had both gained height, but even with his enormous soled boots I still towered over him. Zim whimpered and backed away, but this time around I did not twitch. "Oh, and if you think that I didn't notice the missing tools from Biology, then you're even dumber than I first thought. You'd better hand them over_ now."  
_  
If it was ever possible for a person to sink within their own self than it most certainly would have been the case with Zim, for the Irken had tensed every muscle in his body with such a force that I was sure he would collapse from tension. He was certainly making quite a show of trembling inside his thick sweater; he tried to keep his false eyes fixed upon my face, but I had already noticed his gaze flicker briefly to the hem of his jeans pocket.

" . . . Z . . . Zim doesn't . . ."

He was cut off then, by the excited yells streaming from the building towards us. Burning one final glare into the Irken I swiftly moved away, before my classmates noticed us and started claiming that we were having a lover's argument or something of that nature. Ignoring them; the parched ache inside my dry throat decided on my next route, and I began to head towards the cafeteria.

And then I heard the voices.

"Aw . . . What's wrong, Zimmy? Was your wickle experiment a failure?"

"You gonna cry about it?"

"Oh my God, freak. I can't believe how bad you cocked up there!"

And that, of course, was Chunk. I stopped now to listen to the goings on. No matter my feelings for Zim I could not help but pity him in regards to the bullying. He had worked hard to build up a reputation of being tough and strong; this sudden change of character had naturally shown to the entire skool that Zim was now an easy victim, and in no time at all Chunk had been prompted back into dragging the Irken down again.

Whatever insults they were throwing at Zim now were clearly not working, for I heard no sound leave the Irken's mouth, and Chunk's tone was starting to grow fat with impatience. "Don't you bloody ignore me, ya piece of shit. Or d'you think you're all big and badass there. Well, DO YA?!" Chunk's voice was becoming impossibly obnoxious; I had to slap a hand over my mouth so to prevent myself from laughing. For someone who liked to think that he was the Top Dog of the skool Chunk certainly had a very short temper. I risked a peak over my shoulder, and found Zim desperately trying to escape the surrounding wall of students. Well now. This took even me by surprise. At least Zim had not hidden away his basic common sense by attempting to fight back. I sighed at the foolish goings on behind me and turned back towards the canteen.

"Oh, so NOW you're running away?!" Chunk's screams echoed after the retreating Zim. "What's wrong, afraid or something?! _Get over here, _or d'you _fail _at that _too?!"_

The silence that followed Chunk Butcher's words was thick enough to cut with a knife . . . followed by an antagonized screech to shatter the skies above our heads, blowing out the screams that continued there after into nothing but whispers on the wind. I dropped my belongings and spun around.

Zim's first strike had caught Chunk across the face; tearing open the flesh from his left eyebrow across to his chin. All of the previous fight in the bully had fled in an instant, replaced by the most impeccable fear imaginable. Swift as the striking cobra Zim lunged again, the scalpel blade rose high above his head, dripping crimson, as if hungering once more the hot salt and copper taste upon its surface. Chunk wailed, and lifted his arms to protect his face.

"OI!" I roared, and leaped out. I hated Chunk, with a passion, but this had nothing to do with him, or any of my fellow, idiot classmates. This was about me and Zim, fighting for the future of the human race.

With every ounce of strength I possessed I threw my lanky frame into Zim's slender one, dragging us both to the ground with a force that shook my very bones. Ignoring this, I dove upon him and slammed my elbow into the wrist of his knife hand. Below me Zim roared out as the tendons in his arm gave way, sending the blade tumbling from his grasp. A student reached out and snatched up the tool before it could be retrieved. I paid little attention, focusing only upon the fight. With no blade to hand Zim struck out with his claws, catching into the loose points of my t-shirt, but not actually _me_. Driving backwards from his desperate strikes my fist shot into the Irken's shoulder, and in the moment he howled out I lunged again. Upon our knees I twisted my body behind him and wrapped my arms beneath his armpits, and lifted - as Gaz had once done to me - bringing his arms upwards and completely breaking off all coordination. Zim's lips pulled backwards and the most blood curdling snarl rippled out from between his teeth. His arms flared wildly in his abrupt attempts to land a hit, his spastic movements so obscene that I was forced to cling on tighter, grounding my teeth together so to ignore the aches throbbing in my fingers where flesh met wool.

And then it was over. As sudden as his anger had flared he went lax in my arms. I could feel my own heart thumping wildly against his back; releasing my grip upon his arms I shoved him away, my lip curling upwards in disgust, my hand darting up to the check that my precious gold chain was safe.

"Goddammit, you stupid son of a bitch! What the _hell _were you thinking?!" I raged, picking myself up from earth, only to find holes torn into the thin cotton of my favorite t-shirt, adding fuel to my already blazing anger.

As if he had been snapped back into reality Zim was almost rigid, as he too lifted himself up. No one offered him a hand, only venomous looks of deep dislike. He could not look up, only down. Down at the drying crimson upon the filthy earth. " . . . I . . . I . . ."

"You what, Zim, eh? What_ gem_ of an excuse do you have this time?! You just attacked Chunk with a _knife_, for God's sake. And they call _me _crazy!" My fury was beyond anything I had ever experienced before, draining all good tempered thought and feeling from my mind. And Zim's insistent silence was only agitating me further. With an anguished cry I kicked the ground beneath us, spraying gravel and dust in all directions. Zim cowered at my rage, and I screamed out. _"Goddammit, you stupid bastard! What the hell's wrong with you?!_ Just quit this dumb act already, it's pissing everyone off! I liked it better when you were an arrogant piece of _shit!"_

My vision had misted red, seeing nothing but the seething fury that drowned all reason from my being. And it was only as this mist started to lift that I saw the true aftermath of my anger. Zim was not frozen any longer, but trembling. Trembling as the tree blossom does caught in the midst of a windstorm. His head lifted, and at long last his gaze met my own. There was no sly glow, or vicious effect of any sort. Only the heart wrenching gaze of a horror induced child. A break within my words was all it took and suddenly Zim tour off, parting right through the crowd who stood hastily aside for him. No one called after him, or tried to stop him. We all stood in place, in complete silence. No one even protested my own presence. For the first time in my whole life I was actually one with my classmates, but there was no thrill I gained from it, or happiness of any kind.

How could it, when the strangled choke that sobbed out from Zim's mouth echoed across the air, and pierced my very soul?

* * *

_**Go to deviantArt to see Zim's drawing**_


	11. Chapter 8

Never before had any skool day passed as slowly as the hours following Zim's sudden outburst upon Chunk Butcher. My heroism had earned me the temporary respect of my piers; ten years ago I would have been crying with joy at the prospect of finally being accepted by my classmates.

Now it made me feel sick.

I could have sobbed with relief when the bell signalling the end of the skool day finally rang out. I darted straight to my locker in order to collect what belongings I would require for the weekend as swiftly as I was able; I needed to get out of this place. I needed isolation and time to organize my thoughts above anything else.

Upon the porch into the hi-skool Gaz stood waiting for me, her gaze fixed downwards upon the screen of her Game Slave as her fingers hammered away at the controls. I did not dare to touch her incase she flipped me over, so I settled for clearing my throat to alert her of my presence. Her reaction was swifter than I anticipated; Gaz slapped the halves of her console shut and whipped her head up, fixing me with a glare to rival that of a serpent. _"So."_

"So what?" I grunted, hiding my discomfort as I started towards home. Gaz jogged to catch up with me, her sharp fingernails dug into my arm as she tried to pull me back.

"So," my sister said again. "What's all this I hear about you starting a fight with Zim?"

How the hell did Gaz know about _that? _"I did _not _start a fight with him. He attacked Chunk with a knife and I stopped him. Period." I did not want to talk about the events with anyone at the moment. Not with my mind in such a state. And _especially _not with Gaz.

My violent sister snorted; the beads in her hair rattling with her disbelief, her golden brown eyes filled with curiosity and malice. "Well you clearly did a bad job at it, else you wouldn't have been so torn to shreds."

She did not need to remind me. Zim's claws had torn so many unrepairable holes into my favourite t-shirt that it was not possible for me to continue to wear it. The football shirt I was currently sporting I had been forced to take out of the lost property cupboard. It was a size too big for me; the t-shirt felt strangely baggy on my thin frame, and the second-hand knowledge about it made me rather uncomfortable - but at least it was better than walking around in rags. Needless to say, the events occurring within the last few hours had put me in a foul mood.

"Just drop it already, Gaz, I'm not in the mood," I snapped in such a tone that would have normally earned me a punch in the mouth. Gaz threw me the most filthy look imaginable, but else wise let the subject die. Maybe she picked up on my displeasure; at any rate she sped up in her pace then, eager to leave me behind and for that I was exceedingly grateful as it gave me added time to reflect.

I still could not comprehend the transition between Zim's relaxed state to his eruption of fury; it had been so sudden, so wild. I could not recall everything Chunk had said before the Irken lashed out. Had there been something I missed? Had there been an occurring phrase or statement put in that caused Zim to react in such a way? There had to be; for someone who was so meek - whether acting or not - to suddenly attack in such a ferocious manner, there must have been an underlining cause.

_That sound he made when he fled . . . That heart wrenching sound . . . _

At this point I was even beginning to question whether or not the Irken was truly acting. My own doubts flooded my entire body with such a great distaste that I was relieved that I had not eaten in a few hours, else my bringing it back up would be imminent. I found it impossible to shake the feeling that an overhead scheme had been planted into motion; that deadly blue substance in the restrooms continued to weigh heavy on my mind, for it was definitely not of Earth origin. Thin plant samples I had touched to it since Agent Darkbootie's demonstration had reacted in the same manner as the grass, yet it had little effect on larger plants, and even less so on human flesh. Then there was Zim's drawing inside his notebook to consider. The rose, an _Earth _rose, dying at _Irken _hands. That only had one meaning, and yet I was still so confused. I was even starting to wish that Zim had not fled skool early; his presence would have at least given me added time to observe his actions and . . .

_Observe . . ._

"Dib, you dumb bastard!" I yelled aloud, and forced my limbs into a break towards home, and the only possible answers to my questions.

By the time I was through the front door Gaz was already settled into the living room with her Game Slave in hand and an open soda on the coffee table. I paid her no mind, instead charging straight up to my room where I booted up my computer, taking the opportunity to change into my own clothes whilst I waited for it to load.

Three years ago I had managed to plant a number of hidden cameras inside numerous areas of Zim's house. I had not activated them in several months, but I was pretty certain that they were all still in perfect working order - unless of course Zim had found and disposed of them. I had to pray not; they were now my only chance of discovering the true intentions of the Irken. At skool he seemed content with acting the sad little skool boy. But inside his own base? That was a different matter altogether.

"Activate cameras," I told my computer, and was met with an instant image as my supreme technology complied with my request.

My cameras found Zim sat at his kitchen table, analyzing some kind of stone tablet smothered with ancient symbols. The forceps he had taken from Biology traced along the markings, as if trying to undig the meanings. He had swapped his skool blacks for the magenta Invader uniform, but else wise his appalling disguise remained. Zim had gotten into a habit of maintaining his disguise whilst above ground, I guessed as a precaution to the rare occasions he had visitors. It had been a long time since I had last seen him in the uniform. I was not sure whether it suited him better than the black clothes; it certainly was not as close fitting as the skinny jeans . . .

I gritted my teeth, aggravated at my straying thoughts, and leaned in closer to the screen in order to study the Irken's expression closely. He did not look like someone who had just experienced a horrific incident at his skool. On the contrary, he looked rather unphased. His expression was completely blank as his gaze swept over the symbols in his attempt to decipher them. I was starting to grow annoyed. Had I _really_ been concerned that his personality change was genuine?

"I made WAFFLES!" The unexpected screech on the other side of the camera rattled my teeth. Seconds later GIR leapt into view, balancing an over flowing plate of waffles smothered in butter and syrup, which he set upon the table before Zim with an enormous relish of utter delight - or so it looked. It was hard to tell, since he was completely wrapped up in his equally appalling dog disguise. I watched as Zim slowly set down the tablet and glance over to his beaming companion, his false eyes blank, seeing something that no one else could. With an deep sigh as though he was too bored for words, Zim picked one up in his gloved hand and pushed it between his teeth.

The sight made me scream with rage. So! I was right! Zim's eating habits were perfectly fine! He was just putting on a show to fool everyone after all, and it was damn well working! I wanted to scream louder. I wanted to rip out handfuls of my own hair and grab at that stupid Irken's throat, and throttle him into submission. I had to get out. I had to get away from the sight upon the screen before I_ broke_ the screen. My bedroom door slammed shut behind me with a force to shake the entire house. I did not care. I did not care about anything save for my own anger and the revelation I had uncovered.

My head was pounding vicious waves that clouded my eyes, forcing my limbs alone to guide me. My feet had led me into the kitchen. For a moment I wondered why, until I remembered that I had not actually eaten in a good seven hours. I could feel my stomach groaning, eager for a filling; I considered. Well, why not? It was only half past four, but an early dinner was hardly a crime. Besides, maybe ripping my teeth into something would help me feel better.

The cupboards contained an assorted number of packets and canned food, but not the makings of anykind of proper meal; it did not look as though Dad had gone shopping as of late. I heard myself sigh. "Desperate times call for desperate measures," I muttered to myself, and immediately resorted back onto my common tactic of plucking cans of food out at random to make the fillings for my sandwich. In bread bin I selected two slices of whole wheat and slid them into the toaster. My activities were good; they helped to disperse my anger fuelled thoughts. I opened a can of tuna.

"What are you doing?" Gaz's voice sounded from the doorframe. I glanced to her scowling face briefly, her cell phone locked in her grasp.

"I'm making food, Gaz, for eating. It's something we humans have to do to survive," I replied in a mellow tone, opening my second can. I winced when her powerful fist connected with my shoulder.

"Well don't," she snapped, retracting her hand.

"Don't what, survive? How very kind of you, little sister," I returned, my anger brimming to the surface once more. Gaz was a lot stronger than me, if I angered her enough then she could easily break my arm. I knew this, but at the time I did not care.

My toast popped up. I slid it down again.

Gaz's eyes narrowed, flickering golden flames. "Don't be an ass, fag," she said, and held up her cell phone. "I just got a call from Dad. He's coming home in a few hours to take us to Bloaty's. So you'd better not screw this up again."

_How nice of Dad to call me too. _I bit my tongue so to stop the sarcastic thought leaving my mouth. "Well then, that's a few hours I've got for the food to settle and get hungry again," I said, collecting extra fillings from the refrigerator. When I noticed Gaz's expression I said, "Don't worry, Gaz. I won't screw it up, okay?"

"You'd better not," my sister muttered darkly, and departed.

Truth be told I was unsure as to whether Gaz was truly concerned about seeing Dad; I had never fully understood her emotions towards the man. Still, it did not surprise me that she was on edge. Dad always made sure to take us out for a meal at least once a year; during this time he was nearly always in deep conversation with one of his lab assistants over the phone, but nonetheless the time was somewhat precious. And despite all our arguments and differences Gaz was still my sister, and amongst everything I did love her. It would be unfair to ruin an important evening for her for the sake of my own interests.

With my mind finally relaxed and giant sandwich fully prepared I carried the food back up to my room. I barely glanced at the computer screen as I minimized the camera footage, refusing to shut it off completely just incase something happened later on. After briskly checking my messages from the Swollen Eyeballs I set about making a start upon the masses of homework I had been set to complete over the weekend. Above everything else, my _Macbeth _essay was in dire need of completion. I decided to continue on with that, seeing as how it was due in the following Thursday, pausing briefly as I worked in order to take bites of my snack. Despite my confrontation with Gaz I was glad I had went ahead and made the food; the sugars were certainly helping to keep me awake.

Time passed in comfortable silence. When I eventually checked the time in the corner of the computer screen I almost toppled backwards in shock. 17:47pm? Where had those precious sixty minutes gone? I went back and read through what I written in my essay. Satisfied with the progress I had made, I closed down my work and my Swollen Eyeballs messages, leaving no programs open save for the camera footage. On a whim, I decided to check it.

Zim was not there.

"Computer, switch to camera Alpha," I said immediately, fingering my piercings, unable to explain the sinking feeling I suddenly had in the pit of my stomach. Over an hour had passed since I last saw the Irken, so why did I feel so uneasy over his movements?

_Because he's Zim._

Alpha camera displayed Zim's living room, but Zim was not there. Only GIR, sat upon the couch and chatting animatedly with a rubber pig and a live cactus. There was no sound of the television playing, or any obnoxious, triumphant laughter. Only GIR, talking.

"I's knowing, Piggie and Spikey!" squealed the robot. "Mastah says we stay here and he goes to lab and we stay. Does Piggie or Spikey know what happen when Mastah gets back? DOES YOU? YOU'S RIGHT MY PIGGIE! MASTAH GO AAAWWWLLL CRAZY WITH DA BLUEY GOOEY! RUN NOW, SPIKEY!"

_Holy shit._

I was out of my room, hurdling down the stairs, heaving my trench coat on and lacing up my sneakers, all before I even had time to contemplate anything else. Screw Gaz. Screw Dad and the meal out. This was _far _more important. This was for the sake of the entire Earth.

_Because if Zim's testing that substance on larger plants it must mean that it's almost ready. Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit Dib!_

"And _where_ do you think _you're _going?" The voice of darkness itself, dripping hatred and venom from the doorway.

"I'm going out. Sorry, Gaz, but this is really important." I did not have the time to explain this all now! I dropped my cell phone into my pocket atop the jelly babies.

Gaz's arms folded across her chest. "This is about Zim again, isn't it?" she snarled, and instead of waiting for a response my sister erupted in fit of anger. "_Goddamn you, Dib! _You are _not _going to screw all this up just because you're obsessed with him! I don't give a shit what the hell's happening between you both, but you _can't _go out now!" I could see the molten fury bubbling lava. Her fists began to tighten, readying herself to strike me.

"Just tell Dad to go without me. I don't care!" I hissed, trying to defuse the situation.

"He _won't go without you, Dib! _You know that! You bastard! Can't we just go to Bloaty's without you crapping out on me for once?!"

Ah. Of course. This had nothing to do with seeing Dad; and why would it? Dad was a nothing man, and Gaz just wanted a free trip to Bloaty's. I dug my hand into my pocket for my wallet, and shoved a handful of notes at her. "Here. There's fifty dollars. If Dad refuses to take you then go anyway. Take a friend from the Game Slave club or something if you want. Okay? Happy? Now will you let me go?"

I do not think that Gaz would have been more surprised if I suddenly announced that I had given up on the paranormal. She stood completely frozen in place, her fingers wrapped around the money. Beneath her white powered face, two little spots of pink were blossoming as her head gave a stiff nod. I almost fell over. Did my sister actually experience _gratitude?_

"Good." I sighed with relief. "I don't know when I'll be back. Have fun, and say hi to Dad for me." I waited for no answer; I had wasted far too much time fighting with my sister. In a matter of seconds I was out of the door, running with all my strength towards the strange green house, fuelled with the knowing that I finally had the answers I had been seeking for so long now.


	12. Chapter 9

After all the years of battling against Zim I had the route to his house etched so deeply into my mind that I did not even have to think about the directions I took. Even the gnome field was no more of a challenge, for the blind spots around the mechanical guards were mapped right before my eyes; evading capture was no longer an issue. The only concern carved into my head was the evil scheme currently underway right beneath my feet, and there was nothing I could do to prevent it until I was inside. My fists banged upon the front door until they began to throb, desperate to gain entry before the gnomes located me on the doorstep and drove me away.

"Oi, Zim! I know what you're plotting! Let me in before I break the door down!" I roared, continuing to thump on the door. In truth my threat was empty; there was no way I was strong enough to knock down his door. I knew it, and Zim probably knew it too. I growled through my teeth and removed my reddening fists. As they lowered to my sides I felt something crinkle inside the pocket of my trench coat. In rembrance to what I owned I grinned, and changed tactics.

"GIR," I called out sweetly. "It's Dib, d'you remember me? If you let me in I'll give you jelly babies."

The responce was not quite what I had hoped for. I gained entry, but not without preventing the door instantly being wrentched open, and my own falling backwards onto the concreate pathway as the extatic little robot launched himself into my belly. I yelled out in protest, only to have my words drowned out by the squeals of: "MAAARY! You's coming over to watch _Angry Monkey_ with me! Where is da jellys babies?!"

GIR had a powerful grip; with great difficulty I pushed him off my now bruised belly and shoved my way into the base. There was still no sign of Zim anywhere. My mouth started to grow dry.

"JELLYS BABIES!" GIR screeched in demand, forcing my hands to shoot upwards and cup over my ears.

"I'll give you the jelly babies!" I cried over his wails, removing my hands. "Only if you tell me if Zim's in his lab." My hand drifted to my pocket and withdrew the candy, just to ascertain the robot that I actually owned some.

"Yup, mastah in lab thingy!" declaired GIR in ringing tones, and wasted no time in leaping up to snatch the jelly babies from my grasp. I paid no mind to the biazzar little robot shovelling candy into his mouth, instead pushing my way past into the kitchen. It had been three years since last I set foot inside Zim's base; no changes had occured since that day, other than the noticeable amount of potted plants now dotted around his living room and kitchen, most of which were dead. I tried not to look at them - the sight made me nausious.

Upon the kitchen table lay the plate of waffles. Only two remained now; a thin layer of congealed greese and butter smeared atop them. My stomach turned once the scent regestered with me. In my desperation to leave the house I had forgotten to bring a baseball bat or a knife, or some other form of weapon with me. My eyes located the griddle pan used to cook the waffles on top of the stove; on an impulse I grabbed it before diving into the elevator leading to the underground lab. To my disapointment the pan had cooled off, but swung hard enough it would still deliver damage. Besides, my real weapon was inside of my pocket: the precious recording I had taken on my cell phone the last time I was here. I decided now that I would use it, if worst came to worst.

Reaching the floor level of Zim's lab I noted that whilst upstairs had remained relativly the same, a number of changes had taken place within the lab itself. Different blueprints and experiments had been taped and set up across almost every corner; grotesque images of mutilated animals and plants burned right before my eyes. It was all I could do to keep my voice supressed, else I would surely be noticed by the Irken or his computer. I lay myself flat against the surfaces of enormous experiament tubes and counters covered with numerous tools, as I crept my way around the horrific world I had stepped into. The griddle pan pressed to my face incase nessasary; a precaution and a comfort.

Diving from one cabinet to the next was when I heard him, Zim, and the gargling mutation of demented laughter that croaked from his throat. I could feel my face twisting with anger and disgust, the image of his attack upon Chunk still fresh in my mind. As the griddle pan rose high above my head and my fury reached boiling point, I lunged out; a falcon, swooping down to make its kill.

The sight before my eyes ladled my psyche awash with mortification. I stopped. The griddle pan fell with a clatter upon the ground.

There was no congealed remains of a vile mutation or dead creature as I had thought, or the crazy laughter of a psycopathic alien monster. Zim stood almost completely still. One arm wrapped around his body whilst the other . . . The other was upwards, with two slender fingers pushed down his own throat. A tortured moan escaped from his mouth, and suddenly he colapsed to the ground. His hand shifted, followed the replusive shuddering of the food he had recently consumed, boiling back up. On his hands and knees he retched up the concoction of flour and egg and milk, butter and syrup. There was nothing I could do, for I was completely immobilised. Zim violently coughed as the final few lumps emerged. As his finished up he sat back, seemingly entirely shut off from the fact he was possitioned in a puddle of his own vomit. His wig and contact lenses had been discarded but his Invader uniform remained. It was not until that point I realised how unkept it appeared.

"Z . . . Zim?" I called out timidly, uncertainly, taking a small step forwards.

I do not think he noticed me, but something caused him to move. Some motivation made the Irken's hand dive onto one of the many counters, and snatch forth a small object. I squinted behind my glasses, and realised that it was a scalpel blade indenticle to the one he had taken from Biology. The world around me stood completely still then, as on a tortured sob caught within his throat, the glove and sleave were torn away and the knife desended; swiping right through the skin and biting into flesh.

Again. And again.

Deja vu. For the second time that day I was leaping forwards, tackling into Zim in my desperation to get the blade out of his grasp. Unaware of my presence until contact was made Zim screamed in terror, the knife tumbling from his hand. His attention was drawn away from me instantly as his hand shot out the retrive the weapon.

"NO, DON'T!" I yelled, forcing my arms to constrict around him. Not like before, not to render his attacks useless, but to pull him into my chest and hold him close as my foot kicked out, driving the blade away. I do not know whether it was the loss of the knife or my suffocating grip that caused his next flow of actions, but Zim started screaming then, his limbs thrashing wildly against the bonds of my arms, fastening across his shoulders and pulling him in with a firm hold. Irken claws flared out; knocking my glasses to the floor, digging into my thighs, through the leather of my trench coat and opening blood-filled streams in my arms. The pain made me cry out but I refused to let go, instead gripping harder, holding him closer to my heart.

"Damn you, you crazy thing! Calm down for God's sake! You'll make the bleeding _worse!" _

After what seemed like hours later Zim did calm down, but only because his throwing up and mangled flesh was draining out his energy. He lay frozen in my arms, completely rigid, as if waiting for the moment that I would stab him in the back. The only movement released was the drift of his hand, moving to lower his sleeve over his bleeding wounds. I loosened my grip on him then, but only enough so that I could see his face. His head instantly drifted downwards, his own enormous fushia eyes refusing to meet mine. I sat gasping for breath as sweat trickled down my forehead, my hands gripping his shoulders, for his support and my own.

"What the _hell_ are you playing at, eh? Do you_ want_ to _die_ or something?" My words were angry but my tone was not. How could it be, after what I had just witnessed, just prevented? The blood brought forth from where Zim's claws had sliced into my arms dribbled out from beneath the sleeves of my coat and onto the floor, where the crimson ink fell beside the hot blood spilled from Zim's self-inflicted wounds.

Zim's blood was blue.

The Irken's head finally lifted, so that his heartbroken eyes could meet mine. His hands travelled to his uniform, where he pulled despairingly at the material above his heart. _"It hu . . . hurts so much, D . . . Dib-thing. M . . . make it stop!" _It was for a brief second that our eyes locked, before Zim burried his head into my chest and started to howl.

* * *

_**Enjoying your suspence? Second theme in the story has now been intorduced, and that is self-harming, the effects it causes upon the victim and those around him/her. I have read many IZ stories in which one of the characters is cutting, but I often find that the author clearly has no idea what they are talking about, because what they are writing is very inaccurate. As someone who self harms I know exactly what I am talking about, and save for the obvious everything in regards to Zim's depression is based on my own experiances.  
**_


	13. Chapter 10

What are you meant to do, when you find your arch nemesis leaning into your chest for support and sobbing his heart out, as though everything in his world has come crashing down and you are the only thing that is certain left alive?

So many options flashed before my eyes, but which one to take? He did not have his disguise on; I could take him to the authorities, or my dad, and prove to the entire world that I was right all along. Or I could summon agents of the Swollen Eyeballs, so that together we could perform the autopsy, and finally have our profession recognised.

I could leave; walk out of the house, and leave him alone with his self-pity and knife, and let what would come, come. Or I could take up the knife and end his misery myself. I could do it, I knew that I could - six years of our fighting had proven that I was capable of slitting his throat.

A flicker of my eyes and memory struck me: _A reaching hand, a crying voice; weeping, needing my help, my protection. The paddling of baby feet, carrying me away, and the sickening churn of guilt and hate, haunting my shadow ever since.  
_  
My eyes opened. No. Never again. I could not do that.

My arms shifted. One sliding beneath his knees whilst the other gripped his shoulders. He was so light; I easily swept him off of the ground and carried him to the elevator to take us upstairs. The instant I lifted him Zim went rigid in my arms, in doing so more tears spilled from his eyes and a whimper from his mouth. I tried not to stare; his sad eyes strangled my heart. Despite his stiff posture the Irken made no move to escape my arms and nor did I try to put him down, for there it was no effort in my carrying him. I had always assumed that Zim would be light in terms of weight, but this was beyond _anything_ I had expected. I had met eight year olds of greater density.

Stepping out from the elevator we were instantly ambushed by GIR, surrounding us from all sides as he hopped and danced, squealing at the top of his voice, "MASTAH IS BACK! AND MARY! SPIKEY IS RUNNING AWAY, MASTAH! YOU'S NOT GETTING HIM WIFF DA BLUEY GOOEY!" Over and over again did the little robot cry out, in a skin-crawling high pitch that showered my body in goose-pimples, completely oblivious to the distress soaking the air. In my arms Zim cringed, and bit his bottom lip. The skin was already broken, prior I had not noticed; his mouth was caked in putrid stomach plasmas. His teeth only gouged the flesh further, until streaming indigo dripped down his chin, staining his soiled tunic.

"GIR," I cut right through his irritating squeals in a sharp attack that silenced him instantly. His head cocked up towards me. "Your master is not feeling very well. It would please him, and me, if you . . ." Thinking on my feet my eyes desperately scanned the room, and fell upon the congealed mess on the kitchen table. ". . . made waffles. As many waffles as you possibly can. And quietly too," I added as an afterthought, then blinking in shock as the blue highlights across GIR's body shone crimson for the time it took the robot to salute and jump to his task. Heedless to my momentary curiosity I headed into the living room. The empty packet of jelly babies appeared to be missing, and the cactus from earlier had been hurdled into one of the walls. The pot had shattered, needles and earth had been blown in all directions. "Why do you have so many plants?" I asked, for I had guessed that they were not for experimenting with the 'bluey gooey'.

"M . . . Makes base look m . . . more nor . . . normal." The dead-weight voice from beneath me spoke so lightly that I almost missed what he said, followed by a, "Z . . . Zim doesn't want waffles."

"Neither do I, but it got rid of GIR," I replied, trying my utmost to keep the atmosphere relaxed as I gently lowered Zim onto the couch, then kneeling down so that our eyes were level, or would have been, had the Irken's gaze not dropped onto his lap. My fingertips brushed beneath his chin and lifted his head upwards, so that his sad, alien eyes could meet my shielded human ones. "What was all that about downstairs then, eh?" My tone was as soft as my caressing fingers, but still Zim did not answer. Ordinarily his silence would have seen me overcome with an unyielding fury; but somehow, my soul had no room for anger. "Why did you cut yourself, Zim? H . . . Have you done it before?" The final question was wrenched from my lips against my will, for I dreaded the answer.

He was utterly still, save for his head, which snapped backwards in a single motion, prompting my fingers to fall free from his chin. Sighing deeply I shifted my gaze to the stain upon his sleeve. Beneath the material Zim's blood was smarting terribly; rapidly welling up from the wounds and turning his sleeve blue. I had not realised how cleanly he had cut himself. "Stay here," I told him softly. Zim's head lifted slightly; his eyes bright with tears and uncertainty. "I'm just gonna get some stuff to clean your wounds with. Roll up your sleeve."

My time apart from the Irken was longer than I would have preferred, owing to the fact I had no idea what I was meant to be searching for. Water was no good in this situation, since the liquid would only burn the Irken's flesh, and I very much doubted that GIR would be of any use to me, and nor did I want to ask him since he was occupied with making the waffles; a soft humming being the only noise that escaped him.

Eventually I found an odd looking box in one of the cupboards that looked very similar to a first aid kit, only it displayed many Irken symbols upon the front. On its opening I discovered a selection of sterile wipes and band-aids. Satisfied, I carried it with me into the living room, where I dropped a single packet into Zim's lap for him to wipe his mouth with the content. He made no move; his eyes were deadpan, blank, and seeing only the flashing of memories before his inner eye.

"You need to roll your sleeve so I can tend the wounds," I told him, as soft as before, despite that I was starting to grow just a little bit annoyed. Even more so when the Irken refused to meet my gaze as he mumbled an almost silent 'can't'.

I have always been told that sighing is one of the best ways to relieve oneself of building stress. I did so yet again, feeling only slightly better off for it. "Come on, Zim, work with me here," I crooned. "The wounds need to be cleaned, else they'll become infected."

Revulsion rapidly swelled upon the surface of Zim's face, within his eyes, and briskly he presented me with his injured arm.

I rolled the sleeve. The air in my own mouth turned to ash at the sight I beheld.

From his left knuckle all the way to where his sleeve began, the skin was covered with a combination of old and new cuts, crusted over with dried blue, so thick upon his skin that it looked black. I cannot fully comprehend the horror that I experienced, and knowing that there was nothing I could do other than to set about cleaning his fresh wounds.

_His other arm . . . Oh please say his other arm isn't the same._

"Z . . . Zim. That time you bunked skool . . . Is that when all this began?" I asked as I worked, trembling from head to toe. He winced as I rubbed a wet-wipe into the cuts. It smelt suspiciously of alcohol.

Just like every other time I had asked something of him, Zim took his time in answering my question. " . . . Yeah," he muttered in a voice that belonged to a shy kindergartener on his first day away from home - but not Zim.

Opening a second packet, I did some quick math in my head. _Three weeks ago . . . _all that time, suffering in isolated silence.

So.

What had happened during that time that had reduced the condescending Zim I recollected to this broken shell of his former self? I wanted to ask him; God knows I wanted to, but Zim was already reluctant in having me tend his wounds, and I could not blame him. We had been enemies for so long now; I highly doubted that he would confine in _me, _of all people, the reason of his downfall. My questions would have to wait.

Besides, I had my own suspicions.

With enormous difficulty I temporarily pushed the thoughts from my mind and focused upon the task at hand, so not to hurt the Irken as I gently swiped a damp cloth across his mouth, eradicating all traces of blood and vomit. "There!" I announced, attempting to affect an air of ease. "All done. Doesn't that feel so much better?" I smiled, the first genuine smile I had ever given him, hoping to reassure Zim of my sincere intentions. I moved aside, onto the seat next to him, where beside me the Irken's tongue flickered into view, tasting the sterile aroma on his lips.

" . . . It's good." He looked to me then, with enormous blank eyes and a vague expression. An involuntary spasm inside my jaw saw the corner of my lip rise of its own accord. I had to look away before Zim noticed and questioned me of it.

"Good. That's good," I said briskly, my gaze averted in my actions to finally tend my own wounds. Through the corner of my eye I noticed Zim trying to pull down his sleeve so to shield his mutilated arm. "What are you doing? You can't do that!" The sight sent the box and blooded wipes tumbling from my grasp and scattering across the floor, but in greater consequence I had also caused Zim to recline backwards in fear and shock.

"W . . . Why . . ?" His confusion was genuine.

"It's filthy and ripped, of course!" So was everything else he was wearing, come to that. The magenta tunic of his uniform was variegated with vomit, blood and various other substances. "Don't you have anything else to wear?" I asked, only to have my question met by the half-hearted shrugging of Zim's shoulders. An eyebrow rose from my disbelief; I found it difficult to believe that the Irken had no other clothes available to him, but neither did I wish to agitate him further by saying so, and tried looking around for his Gothic blacks myself - but found only his spiked boots beside the door. It was the sight of my own reflection within the dead TV screen that gave me another idea.

"D'you want to borrow my coat?" I offered, and started to remove it before Zim even had a chance to answer. "It'll be pretty big on you, and it's a bit ripped. But still, it's gotta be better than wearing that filthy uniform."

Beneath his breath Zim mumbled unintelligibly, although I did managed to catch the word 'germs'. I guessed the rest, and instantly felt the rage boil.

"Oi! I'm not dirty! How dare -" I caught myself on the verge of finishing my sentence, in the realisation that my aggressive tone was making Zim recoil further. I let out a slow and steady breath, and tried again. "I mean, it was washed not that long ago, so it's completely germ-free." I managed to relax myself in time, proffering the coat to Zim's awaiting decision. Despite his mysophobia he clearly found my offer appealing as he took a grip upon the hem of his tunic, ready to lift it, but not before flashing me a look of deep discomfort. No doubt his unease stemmed from the fact that I was homosexual; at any rate I turned away in understanding, but as I heard him drop the shirt onto the floor I could not prevent myself from risking a peak.

I froze in place. For the third time that day, I stared at him.

Zim was not thin. He was not even skinny. He was _skeletal._ I could see every bone, every _cord,_ beneath his skin. His ribs jutted alarmingly above his concave stomach, his collar bones and fragile limbs looked close enough to snap. His hips and pelvis pushed outwards from his skin. When he bent over to pull off his boots, his spine looked as though it was about break through his paper-thin skin; I had to wonder how it was even able to support his PAK. Worst of all; the cuts trailed all the way from his left knuckle, continuing right up to the bottom of his shoulder. I had to look away and slap a hand over my mouth so he would not hear the sob wanting to break free, for if I could not hold myself together, how the hell would Zim? There was no way I could lend him my trench coat now; the heavy leather would surely crush his fraying body. I dropped the coat onto the floor and struggled out of my t-shirt.

I heard Zim whimper. " . . . W . . . Why is the D . . . Dib removing his torso covery?"

I thrust the shirt at him. "Put that on instead," I told him, and started to pull my coat back on, trying desperately to control my wobbling voice. "Don't worry, it's fresher than my coat." My heart was thumping so wildly I could not bring myself to look at him yet; I needed to ensure that it would not burst from my chest. Self-cutting was one thing, but _bulimia?_ Who was this strange alien, and what had he done with the real Zim?

God help me, I _missed _the real Zim.

" . . . Z . . . Zim is grateful to th . . . the Dib for lending Zim his tor . . . torso covery and making his hurts better." Zim's tone was completely blank, dead, toneless, as though he had nothing else to give. "N . . . now you may l . . . leave Zim, like the others. Or fetch the E . . . Earth authorities. Z . . .Zim does not care."

My head whipped around so suddenly, my own tears and discomfort forgotten; everything now focused upon the Irken: sat upon the couch in my baggy t-shirt, with his self-inflicted cuts running up and down his arm, thinner than a stray cat with terminal disease - never before had a person looked so broken and lost. So ready to give up on life.

"If you think," I said firmly, but not unkindly, "that I am going to just leave after everything I've seen, everything that's _happened,_ then you've got another thing coming, Space-boy. I'm not going."

The slow lift of Zim's head was enough to see my ribcage shatter. By the time he managed look towards my direction, his broken voice was already questioning. "W . . . why w . . . would the D . . . Dib stay? Y . . . y . . . you ha . . . hate Zim . . . I don't -"

I silenced him, by gently pressing my fingers to his startlingly dry lips. Up until this point all my actions had been robotic, acting only upon the instinctual feeling in my gut that forced my assistance to bleed through. Only now the automatic program puppeting my will was dead; I had control of myself again . . . but I did not want to change anything. Dropping down to my knees so that our eyes could meet, I held his gaze.

Past the sadness, Zim had beautiful eyes.

"You be quiet, Space-boy. I'm not going. Got it?"


	14. Chapter 11

I contacted Gaz on her cell phone in order to inform her that I would not be coming home tonight. By the goings on in place behind her it certainly sounded as though she was at Bloaty's Pizza Hog, although whether or not she was with Dad I was clueless.

"I'm not sure what time I'll be back tomorrow, I may be out a while. And don't worry about Dad finding out; I'll sort him." Dad had this incredibly annoying habit of acting as though Gaz was a little girl in need of lots of care, even though she had been fending for herself since she was about five years old.

Unsurprisingly, Gaz contained very little interest in my activities. "I really couldn't care less how long you'll be, Dib. Just let me enjoy my pizza and games, and I'll let you enjoy the peace with your new boyfriend, fair? Kick Zim for me. Bye." And with that said Gaz hung up, not even allowing me the chance to say goodbye, or correct her assumption that Zim was my boyfriend. Still, I was glad that she did not seem aggravated with my staying out. I clipped Zim's telephone back onto the catch and returned to couch, throwing myself upon the seat with a tremendous sigh. Zim looked at me curiously, clutching tightly upon the hem of my shirt.

"I . . . Is the Dib sister angry with you for leaving her alone?" he asked in a worryingly toneless voice. His antenna repeatedly flickered every now and then; I had a sudden urge to reach out and touch them.

"Nah. Gaz is fine. She says hi, by the way," I replied, fingering my precious gold chain so to distract my wondering hands. I was not lying as such, about Gaz's greeting. In truth anyone my sister felt worthy enough to hit was essentially just as good as saying hello in her eyes.

"Oh." Zim looked to his lap then; as his head and posture drooped downwards so did his voice, into a dull muffle. "The Dib doesn't have to stay. Y . . . you can g . . . go, if you want." His arms resumed position around his body, displaying those horrendous cuts to view. I tried to not look at them, instead cocking my head down to one side in an attempt to catch his gaze once more.

"Sure, I'll leave," I snorted, sarcasm dripping from my lips. "And then when you don't come into skool on Monday I'll come round to find that you've cut yourself again, or . . . I don't know . . . removed your own PAK." The memory made me shudder; my reminiscence of when Zim's PAK had attached itself to me was somewhat hazy, but I could clearly remember the effects it had cast over Zim's dying body.

"An Irken cannot knowingly leave their PAK off for any longer than five minutes, by instinct." Zim's tone was flat and dead, almost as though he was reciting from a textbook. My own knowledge on Irken physiology and lifestyle was very limited, and under normal circumstances the gaining of new information would have filled me with great excitement. Except these circumstances were far from normal.

"Be that as it may, I'm still not leaving. So like it or lump it, Space-boy." My use of the childish insult was an attest to remind the Irken of his old self, but any fight that had once ruled Zim had been sucked dry, leaving him with nothing but the sadness that nourished his starved body in the place of food. If the fight in him was gone, I wondered if that still made us enemies. Was it even possible, considering everything that had just occurred? That _was _occurring this very minute? I was _helping_ Zim; could we _ever_ go back to being arch enemies after this? Did I even _want _us to?

That particular answer was branded white-hot before my eyes: _No. Never. Never again. It's not possible._

The shocking realisation disappeared underneath an unexpected frenzy of delight, as GIR burst his way into the living space, overflowing with triumph as he balanced four plates of syrup-soaked waffles, which he set down between myself and Zim with enormous excitement. Another squeal of thrill and he vanished back into the kitchen to retrieve more.

I gaped. Zim finally looked up. "Y . . . you sai . . . said for him to m . . . make as many as . . . possible," he pointed out.

I had, had I not? But I had never considered that one little robot could make _this _many waffles! And the plates kept on coming; there was easily thirty or forty of the pastries. The smell made my stomach growl. I did not really fancy such heavy foods, but I was hungry; the toasted sandwich seemed like ancient history. Besides, with the final plates brought through GIR was watching us keenly, evidently eager to see us eat. I picked one up and pushed it between my teeth. It was well made; a little too sweet for my tastes perhaps, but good nonetheless. I reached for another, and stopped when I noticed that Zim had yet to move.

"You should eat, Zim. They're pretty good," I said, trying to act casual, even though the enormous lump formed inside my throat made it difficult for me to swallow my food.

Satisfied that his efforts had not been for nothing, GIR switched on the television.

". . . Irkens . . . do not require food to sustain their -" Zim's stammering was broken as I cut across him.

"Bullshit. If that was so then you wouldn't have gotten so thin." Even my limited understanding of the Irken race was not so fine that I would be fooled by such a statement. I pushed a plate towards him. "Just eat something. One. Please?" My tone softened. "Go on. You must be so hungry."

The real Zim would have argued; if there was something that the real Zim did not wish to do then he would stand his ground. But here and now the real Zim had wasted away - in more ways than one. I could not help but feel relieved when he picked up a waffle and cautiously gnawed into the soft texture, but it hurt as well, to see the fight drained out of him. And even if Zim himself did not care for his emaciation, I mourned it enough for the both of us.

Truth be told, Zim was the reason that I discovered my sexuality. I remember so clearly that day he walked into the classroom for the first time without his Invader uniform. Discarded in exchange for those amazing skinny jeans, that incredible black sweater which clung to his hips, his chest, to every curve and ridge upon his body. He was wearing a _dog collar,_ for God's sake. I was only fourteen but I was mesmerised, captivated; unable to comprehend how anyone could possess such physical perfection. Zim was _gorgeous_. It was only afterwards when I realised what I had been thinking, and I was left with a gaping jaw and a stiff iron pole between my legs that I managed to get a grip upon my thoughts. Zim was not only my worst enemy, but another_ male, and_ an alien! I tried to forget the latter, and focus on the fact that he and I were of the same gender. From there I had started looking at other guys, and noticing the beauty they displayed, and then finding that women did nothing to excite me.

But no matter how hard I tried, no man had even held the same physical perfection to me as Zim. The many taboo of this attraction disgusted me, yet simultaneously it excited me even more. I had often wondered what Zim looked like beneath his clothing. I had noticed earlier that he did not possess nipples or a belly button, but beneath his lower clothing? I had no idea what he looked like. Did it look human? Did he even _have_ one, and if so was it larger? Smaller? Fatter? Thinner . . ?

" . . . Dib-thing, your face is ch . . . changing colour. Is that normal for a hy-ooman?" The unexpected speech caused a mouthful of syrup and waffle to fall down the wrong hole; I ceased my own stomach in an attempt to heave it back up.

"Ye - _koff koff_ - yes, that's perfectly - _koff koff koff_ - normal," I choked out, determined not to have to try and explain the concept of blushing to him. With the waffle retracted from my throat I looked to the Irken in reassurance that I was okay. His magenta eyes were enormous and fearful, yet beautiful. But that was the only pleasant thing to look upon now, for there was nothing attractive about his gaunt features, about the way his skin hung off of his bones. Once his flesh had a mysterious jade glow about it; now it was dull as the autumn leaves, greying out before they fell to the ground. Alone, the thought was enough to see my nights overcome with dread.  
All of a sudden, I was not hungry anymore.

* * *

As the fading light outside passed into total darkness I began to notice the heaviness growing in my eyelids; even all the sugar from the waffles pounding in my bloodstream could not prevent the exhaustion of the day creeping up on me. I passed a glance towards Zim. As the hours had gone by he did not look tired. On the contrary; despite his limp stature he seemed wide awake. The computer had been asleep since I had arrived; without it our only entertainment sprung from the television. We had sat through many different programs, including _Mysterious Mysteries,_ which I had insisted we watch. Now on show was a stupid movie GIR had chosen, _Hooray for Earth_, to which Zim had cringed at but said nothing, even when the robot's skin-crawling laughter screeched across the room. I sincerely hoped that the TV would be switched off soon; I was struggling to keep my eyes open.

"Um, Zim," I asked awkwardly, snatching his attention from the TV. "Do Irkens sleep at all?"

Zim shrugged his shoulders. "Our PAKs put the body into hibernation mode whenever they need to recharge, about once an Earth month." I had grown used to his flat tone of voice, but still it managed to pull at my heartstrings. "Why? I . . . is the Dib wanting his s . . . sleepy time?" Zim's bottom lip twitched.

I nodded, and moved to heave off my coat so that it could be used as a blanket. The plates of waffles had long since been removed from the couch, but even so with Zim sat here too there was little room for me to stretch out. I wondered if I should move onto the floor; I did not wish to disturb Zim, and from the looks of things he did not have the will even to move. I shifted off of the couch, preparing myself for a stiff back and having to cuddle up with GIR. I reached out and switched off the TV . . . only to freeze in place when I heard a tiny gasp. Muffled, but definitely audible. I turned, and found the Irken clawing at my shirt as the cascade in his eyes began to bleed anew.

"Hey, what's wrong now?" I dropped my coat onto the couch, my fingertips reaching once more to lift Zim's head. The hot tears were beginning to slide down his cheeks, dripping onto my hand.

_"W . . . Why i . . . is th . . . th . . . the Dib sti . . . ll here?"_ His sobbing even touched GIR, who leapt upon the couch to reach out to his master, his own antenna drooping. Zim however, seemed oblivious to his presence.  
"Y . . . you are Z . . . Zim's . . . enemy. Why do you help Zim? Is it t . . . trick? Make Zim trust, then l . . . leave . . ? Le . . . leave for sl . . . sleepy time . . ? _No . . . D . . . Don't leave Zim!" _His final sound was a forced choke, just before he dissolved into uncontrollable tears. Silent tears, that saw my spirit crushed beneath the torrent, for silent tears are far more frightening than loud sobs. He was shivering, though whether from cold or sadness I did not know. I lifted my coat and sat beside him, draping the garment around the pair of us as I pulled him against my chest. The contact made Zim shudder with further uncertainty; I gently shushed him and started to rock.

"You really don't understand humans at all, do you?" I whispered as he started to relax. "When someone is hurt, or sad or sick, then another human will try their best to help them out, even if those two people are bitter enemies. Grudges only go so far before they count for nothing. And . . ." I sighed. The truth had struck me a long while back now; I could no longer hide it. "And I realise that I was wrong all those weeks. I was such an ass to you, and I am sorry for acting the way I did, for not giving you a chance. I feel so guilty. I want to help you now, Zim. I want to help you get better."

I felt Zim's head drift upwards; his slender neck rested against my chest. "E . . . even though Z . . . Zim's a disgrace? A b . . . bad Invader? A wa . . . waste of a P . . . PAK?"

I opened my mouth to answer, and suddenly closed it again, frowning, deeply confused. In all our years of enmity I had never said anything of such nature, or even implied it. And Gaz did not have the understanding of Irken life to say such things, so where the hell else had Zim heard . . .

Realisation hit me. _My cell phone. The recording three years ago._ Oh God, how atrocious.  
_  
Oh, Zim . . ._

I pulled him downwards, so that we lay side by side upon the couch, my arms entwined around him beneath my coat. I was hurting, physically and emotionally, and tired beyond anything I had experienced, so greatly that I was drifting off the instant my head touched the arm of the couch. But that was okay, because if I held onto Zim tightly enough then maybe he would not be able to escape my embrace. Then the night could pass safely after all.

* * *

_**The final theme has been incorporated, and that is how relationships can change in accordance to the circumstances. I have seen this happen numerous times, and I wanted to explore this idea myself.**_

_**My head-cannon ideas of the Invader Zim world will be revealed from this point onwards. One is not mentioned in the story, but I am playing on the idea. Basicly, Irkens can survive solely on the energy from their PAKs for up to four Earth months, although it is certainly not advised, and is only normally practiced in extreme circumstances. The PAK cannot properly feed the organic body shell - hence Zim's weight loss.**_


	15. Chapter 12

_**By 'meagre' Dib is reffering to the fact that their Xmas holidays only lasts for one week (20th - 26th December, they have to go back to skool on the 27th. It sucks I know, but the IZ universe's skool system is a cruel thing**_

* * *

How could I have forgotten the events so fresh to life? Was I so self-centered, so stupid?

It was but the day we returned from our meagre Xmas recess, a week prior Zim's three day absence. Phys Ed had barely started before I had come under the screams of Coach Cross, demanding that I remove the precious gold chain I had forgotten to take off my person. Beneath stifled curses and insults I had returned to the changing room in order to set aside my pendant, only to discover Zim not yet joined the class. He was changed into his gym wear but stood outside my cubicle, his head bent down at an odd angle so to get a clear depiction of the sounds emulating from my volume-reduced cell phone, his face screwed up in concentration and revulsion.

"Oi! What the _hell_ d'you think you're doing?!" I had roared, and leapt towards him seconds before he yelped in surprise and dropped my phone. Forgetting Zim, my hand dived out for the safe landing of my phone before it shattered upon the ground. It was unscathed, but my temper was running thin as I fixed the Irken with a deadly glare that would see him perish under my venomous gaze.

In the face of my anger Zim met me without fear; beneath his contact lenses, his eyes awash with disbelieving horror. "W . . . Where did you get that sounding from, Dib-Worm?!" he demanded to know, his hands trembling. I never answered; the hair-raising screech rippling from Cross's whistle and her own voice yelling for us to get a move on saw Zim flash me one final glare, before his hips swerved in his chase after the coach. His head continuously whipped around towards me, his eyes shining in bottomless unease.

Spitting further curses portraying the Irken I tucked my precious gold chain beneath my jeans. As my phone lowered to join it, my eyes flickered to the screen, and realised that the recording I taken, oh, so long ago, was reaching the final few seconds of its bitter ending . . .

_Three years earlier:_

I was fourteen and arrogant with it. Angry at Zim for evading discovery for so long, angry at myself for the physical attraction I had started to experience towards him. I wanted to prove to myself that such an element meant nothing to me; that I could still take Zim down despite it.

A carnival was opening up in the city that weekend, so I had casually let it slip that all the 'normal' people would be going. My ploy worked just as planned; suddenly paranoid that his absence would highlight his abnormality Zim made the decision to visit the fare on the Saturday morning.

I had waited outside his house for almost half an hour, hidden behind a bush, waiting desperately for the Irken to leave his base, allowing me the opportunity to sneak inside. My patience was rewarded, for eventually Zim departed with GIR on a leash and their usual disguises donned. I was relieved that Zim had opted to bring his little robot dog. I had not thought that getting past GIR would be much of a problem, but his absence would certainly simplify things.

Even back then sneaking past the gnomes was no problem; it was trying to find a route inside that was the main issue. I hoped that foolish GIR had left a window open so I would be able to avoid breaking in. I checked them all, and was thrilled to discover that the window to the right of the front door had been left a tiny pocket of space between the rims of the window and its sill. I was forced to wait a little while longer until the whole street was clear of loiterers before I could wind my fingers through the crack and force the window open, pushing my way into the strange green house.

My plan was so simple, so dangerous. In my pockets I carried five microscopic cameras gifted from Swollen Eyeballs Network, which I intended to hide in numerous areas of the house in my attempt to capture footage of Zim or GIR without their disguises. Three years prior to this I had managed to set up a few other video-recording devices within the base, but it was not long before they were located. These particular cameras were barely the size of the catches of my present-day earrings, thus greatly reducing any chance of them being discovered.

The first one I positioned on top of the television, at the farthest reach, right up against the wall. From the couch it was impossible to see, but I knew that the camera itself would have a brilliant depiction of whoever set themself before it. The next I sat in the same area as the location GIR placed one of the first ever spying cameras I had nestled into Zim's house. That old device had long since been found and destroyed; Zim would not suspect that I would place another camera in the same location as before.

Right from the beginning I had fully intended to place a good portion of cameras inside the underground laboratory itself - the best possible place of capturing footage of Zim's true form. But actually getting into the lab was no easy feat. I knew that Zim's trash can was no trash can at all, but the elevator which carried him back and forth to his experiments. At the time I was noticeably broader - a collection of puppy fat which clung to my body in preparation for a growth spurt. As someone of larger proportions than Zim it was a challenge to climb inside his yet-to-be adapted elevator. In the end I succeeded; the computer instantly carried me down to the lab. It was not until that point that I wondered why the highly advanced computer had not recognised that I was an intruder and kicked me out. In the past the computer had appeared to give off something of a lazy attitude to life, despite it being a machine. I wondered if the technology had a downloaded personality, just as the female Irken Tak had her personality once downloaded into her space ship.

I shrugged off my curiosity as soon as I reached the floor of the laboratory, now wanting to focus my intentions into finding suitable blind spots in which to distribute the three remaining cameras. The unease of my predicament had forced me to move swiftly; I was growing desperate to see this particular plan successfully finished, so that I could leave enemy territory safe and untouched. I was painfully aware of the thumping of my heart and the echoes bought to life by my own footsteps; the silence within the lab was heavy as my pounding heart, and every time a sound was released I became exceedingly paranoid of a sudden appearance of the Irken whose home I was invading.

In the thick silence and isolation of my situation I cannot begin to fully portray the mortifying horror I experienced when the computer spoke without any warning. I screamed, and leapt behind a pile of crates, reaching inside of my pocket for the pen knife I had brought with me. It was no match for any of Zim's supreme technology, but holding the hilt in my palm was something of a reassurance. Once my initial fear passed, however, I managed to catch ahold of exactly what the computer was saying.  
_  
"Connection established. Awaiting response from the Massive."_

_The Massive?_ I recalled Zim mentioning the Massive on occasion; the implication of it being the vassal his beloved leaders patronized heavy in his tone. The sudden recollection filled me with excitement; dropping my knife I scrambled around in a pocket for my cell phone and its camera attachment. The miniature cameras I had brought with me could only be activated back in my bedroom; the filming extra on my cell phone was not of brilliant quality, but certainly good enough to create an undeniable image. And if I could capture footage of Zim's own alien leaders . . . it was not Zim, but proof of alien life nonetheless.  
_  
"Transmission lines open."_

"Yes, what do you want now, Zim?" A voice soaked through with boredom and mildew sounded out from the other side of the crates. I hit the record button and remained hidden, for if Zim's leaders spied me then they would surely inform their Invader later on. I was going to have to listen closely, and wait for the right moment in which to snake my arm across and film them.

"Zim, are you even there?" The same voice, starting to grow fat with impatience. I slapped a hand to my mouth so they would not hear me laugh; it was amusing to discover that I was not the only person who found Zim annoying.

"I don't believe it! He's not even there! How _dare _he call and then bugger off?!"

"He's not _there?!_ You're kidding, right?" - A second voice, slightly easier going, but it sounded as if his mouth was full.

"Do I _look_ like I'm kidding, Pur?"

The sound of soda being sucked through a straw, followed by, "Planet of broken glass. Next time we send him to the planet of broken glass."

"Or we just deactivate the bloody little defect."

That comment made me frown; before I realised it I was sat up straighter, my phone leaning closer to the voices. _Defect?_ I remembered hearing Zim use that word once or twice, always following with a shudder, as though he had said something repulsive like 'slugs and snails'. I had no idea what 'defect' meant to an Irken; I was beginning to suspect that its meaning was slightly different to that of its Earth definition.

"Yeah, but we can't, Red. Not after the Control Brains deemed his life okay at the trial."

"You know my theory, Pur."

"Yes yes, but you can't prove it any more than I can. Just let it drop already."

"I'll drop it just as soon as Zim drops. Dead, that is. Damn, the sooner that little disgrace finds out about his 'mission', the better."

I did not miss the emphasis in which the one called Red had thrown upon the word 'mission' - seasoning it with a heavy dose of sarcasm. I could not believe what I was hearing; I had always known that Zim had a very irritating quirk to him, but to hear all this from his own leaders? It was disgusting. I had forgotten that I was trying to film the two Irkens; I had forgotten the purpose of my presence in Zim's base and the cameras in my pocket. I had forgotten everything, save for the goings on in place behind me.

Laughter. "Maybe we should just wait around 'til he gets back. Then we can yell at him for wasting our time, and then tell him his mission's a load of shit!"

"Good idea! Actually no, don't, Pur."

"Why not? You were all for it only two seconds ago."

"Because I want to see how long he can go before he figures it out for himself."  
_  
"Prff!_ Yeah right! You will so crack and tell him before _he_ twigs."

"Oh? You think so, do you?"

"Yes. Yes I do."

" . . . Two thousand monies says otherwise."

"Done. I feel bad about taking your monies." The laughter that followed had all the sweetness of curdled milk, along with the meeting of two hands colliding in agreement to their bet. From that point onwards I heard nothing. There were still goings on in place; further laughter, and added voices of other Irken - but I could not comprehend what they were saying. The recording ended, and I was swamped in horror and disgust, in knowing of what Zim's leaders truly thought about him. Back then I despised Zim, but not even he deserved such cruel hatred. Normally I would not have been so sickened by what I heard, but Zim loved his leaders with all his heart - the Almighty Tallest, as he referred to them. He adored and respected them, and wanted nothing more than to please them. I knew that much, and I also knew that Zim thought that Red and Pur cared for him too. For me, his own sworn enemy, to know the truth of his being on Earth and actually _pity_ him, was something that I struggled to understand.

The transmission was cut; my only congeal thought was in getting out of this place, as far away from horrific truth as possible. I did not possess the will or even desire to position the final three cameras; it was an effort for me to even gather up my fallen pen knife and leave, never mind attempting anything else. I could not understand why I felt such pity brought to life in the aftermath of this revelation, for I hated Zim, so how could my own deep sadness live for his ignorance?

At home I replayed the recording to myself, over and over again, trying to make sense of the happenings, my mind an utter mess. I knew that if Zim were to hear the recording then our fighting would cease. I would win, and Earth would be forever safe. Yes, of course it would. It was so easy; so within my grasp.

Arriving to skool on Monday I watched the Invader march about the hallways with his usual arrogant swagger, as though he owned the place. My gaze was narrowed, my heart thudding, my thumb grazing the buttons on my cell phone as the corridors started to empty. All it would take was a stroll towards him, a simple flicker of my fingers, and then it would be all over.

I approached him. Zim spun around. "What do you want, Earth-stink?" he had snapped, his three-fingered hand closing around a heavy textbook, ready to strike at me.

" . . . Nothing," I had mumbled, and walked away.

I could not do it. I just did not have the heart to show him the truth. Yes, I wanted to stop Zim from destroying the Earth; that did not mean I wanted to shatter his spirit. Back then I was capable of killing Zim - no question - but it would have been far kinder to thrust a knife into his heart, than to break him from the inside.

I realise now that my actions only stalled the truth from being revealed; for the exposure of Zim's mission was inevitable. A part of me had always known that when he uncovered the dreadful the truth that Zim would be deeply distraught; how could I have not foreseen this heartbreak? My knowledge of the Irkens is very limited, but even I know of the devotion, the unbendable loyalty one has to the Almighty Tallest. His whole life had been nothing but that, and the underlined belief that his precious leaders loved and respected him as he did them. An Irken's life and soul belongs unconditionally to the Empire and the Tallest. Without them, Zim had no purpose. He was nothing.

The sun was rising, a new day with it - maybe a new chapter in our lives too. I had shown Zim kindness, perhaps the first real kindness he had ever experienced. We were still led together, side by side upon his ugly couch beneath my coat, our bodies entwined, and in the depths of my soul I knew that there was no going back now.

_Maybe I don't want to go back. Maybe things are better this way . . ._


	16. Chapter 13

_**I want to quickly remind my readers that this is not just a ZADR story - I am also looking into Dib's relationship with his family. In this head cannon Dib is early November born and Gaz mid December, making them aproximatly 25 months apart.**_

* * *

"T . . . The D . . . Dib wants to g . . . go h . . . home?" In the face of my decision arose on the surface of Zim's skin the trembles that would see him crumble, once more, as the withered petals of a rose drop, fall, and hit the ground.

"Only for a short while, to get clothes and homework and stuff." My gaze trickled honey, sweet, gentle as milk as he started to shrink away. "I need to, Zim. Its midday and I haven't even gotten changed yet. Come give me a hand, and we'll go out someplace after."

I became nervous when Zim collected his boots and departed, throwing me back my t-shirt before he vanished, wondering if it was wise to let him be on his own right now. I tried to ascertain myself that all would be well when GIR followed him. If nothing else, the little robot would cry out if Zim tried cutting himself. As a distraction to my thoughts I set about deciding what I should collect from home, hoping that I would even have time for a quick shower, seeing as how badly I stank - but until then there was little I could do. I was incapable of borrowing clothes from Zim seeing as how much smaller he was than me. I could not help but smile when he appeared again in his disguise, and usual blacks with the high soled boots - for they added considerable inches to his height. Without them he was only about five foot; cowering an enormous difference beneath my own five foot nine physique.

"W . . . why do you s . . . stare at Zim?" The Irken mumbled, fingering the sleeves of a sweater identical to his last. I tried not to notice how baggy his clothes were.

" . . . Oh, no reason," I said briskly, uncomfortably. "Um . . . shall we go then?" Zim nodded, and followed me out of the house.

The late January air smelled damp, and revoltingly muggy. I immediately struggled out of my trench coat and slung it over my shoulders, wiping sweat from my forehead, my eyes constantly falling onto the emaciated Irken. It was easy enough to see why he was not overheating inside his thick blacks; bulimia had wasted away so much of Zim's body tissue that his jumper and jeans had to act as a substitute for missing fat - not that Zim had ever been fat to begin with. He had always been slim, but very taunt and well-toned, as if he was put through rigorous exercise on a daily bases. I could not help but wonder as to whether or not his strength remained. Some of it must have, recalling the previous day's attack on Chunk Butcher. It certainly appeared unlikely that Zim could lose his combat skills overnight.

The house was abandoned, unsurprisingly, when I let myself in, Zim following cautiously behind me. "Just dump your boots there, and follow up to my room," I told him, kicking my own sneakers beside the bannister and starting straight up the stairs, pausing only to drop my trench coat into the laundry basket to be washed and mended. I waited until Zim caught up with me, and continued on into my room. I had forgotten to leave a window open before leaving the house the previous night; consequently my sanctuary was uncomfortably warm. Still, it mattered little seeing as how I would not be staying long. In the closet and draws I found fresh clothes for the day, alongside a large rucksack I could utilize for carrying my belongings in. I retrieved that too, and left it beside my desk. When I turned to face to door Zim stood upon the threshold, apparently unsure as to what was expected of him.

"Make yourself at home," I said, gesturing for him to enter my room. "I'm just gonna go have a quick shower, I won't be long. Help yourself to books or my computer. The password's '5466368277839'. Just don't read my e-mails. Oh, and there's soda in the refrigerator downstairs if you're thirsty, just help yourself. Okay?"

Zim nodded slowly, apparently trying to take in everything I had just said.

I smiled. "I'll only be a minute," I said, and left.

I have never been the sort of person to take a long time in the bath or shower, choosing only to remain beneath the water for as long as it takes me to properly clean myself, and no longer. I towelled myself dry and pulled on my clean clothes, suddenly feeling much fresher for it. I brushed my teeth too, seeing as how I had not had the chance as of yet, and took my toothbrush with me back into my room - I would most certainly require it. Underneath all that had occurred within the last twenty-four hours was a strange, glowing intensity that I was experiencing; simmering in the bubbling warmth of knowing that my presence may be of assistance to Zim's emotional wellbeing.

It was nice to feel wanted.

Zim had certainly settled himself down, if a little stiffly, in my room; having seated himself onto my wheeled desk chair with one of my old editions of_ Crop Circles_. He stood up abruptly as soon as I returned and dropped the magazine, just as a young child would caught in the middle of raiding the candy jar.

"It's okay, you can sit back down," I told him, bending to retrieve _Crop Circles_. When I placed it on the desk I noticed that Zim had fetched himself a soda after all.

It was a diet alternative.

My Irken companion trembled slightly, before gingerly sitting back down. "Um . . . who . . . who's in the house, Dib-thing?" he muttered, watching me beadily as I crossed back and forth the room to retrieve items I would require during my time away from home.

"Just us," I replied. "Gaz is out at her judo class, and Dad is . . . well Dad. He's never at home." I dropped down beside my ruck-sack and began forcing my belongings inside, giving little care as to whether or not clothes were folded up properly or skool books damaged. As I worked I wondered where I could take Zim, after dropping my things at his base.

An uncertain whimper escaped Zim's lips. ". . . But D . . . Dib-thing, there's someone moving downstairs."

"What?!" My head whipped upwards from my task and thoughts, my hearing stretched out to focus upon the noises emulating from below us. The time was only 13:00pm; Gaz's judo session did not finish for another hour yet, and she normally liked to occupy the Mall afterwards. Which left only one person . . .

I bit back a curse, and turned to Zim. "Can you shove the rest of my stuff into the bag?" I asked, standing up amongst the many items I had layered out to take with me. From my desk chair Zim nodded. "Thanks. I'll be a minute." With a sigh dripping unwanted knowing, I pushed out of my bedroom and hurdled back down the stairs, eager to get the upcoming confrontation over with.

"Is that you, Gaz?" That deep, long absent voice boomed from within the kitchen, immediately setting my teeth on edge. I took a heavy breath in which to steady myself, and stepped past the threshold.

"No, Dad. It's me. Gaz's at judo," I answered thickly, attempting to affect an air of casual calamity as I fetched myself a soda from the refrigerator. My fingers twitched as I snapped open the can.

From the side counter where he made his food Dad spun around to greet me; it was a great effort not to choke on the smog of his blackened arrogance. "Son! Where were you last night? Your sister insisted that we patronize Bloaty's Pizza Hog without you!"

So Dad and Gaz went for the meal without me after all. I was not put out by this news in the slightest; I was more concerned to the idea that Gaz was most likely using _my_ fifty dollars to buy herself video games or new clothes. I frowned in annoyance as I took a gulp of soda, and then answered him. "Yes, sorry Dad. I was out last night. It was really important."

"More important than a family dinner?"

I gritted my teeth so to prevent venomous thoughts from passing my lips.

Apparently changing tactics, Dad attacked from a different angle. "And you're going out again." It was not question; he spoke bluntly, nodding towards my denim jacket which I wore in the place of my trench coat.

"Yes, Dad. I'm going to stay with a sick friend for a while, just until he gets better." Dad chose to ignore the bite to my tone. In truth I really had no idea how long I would be staying at Zim's house; all I knew was that I could not leave him alone whilst his emotional state was so fragile. Already I was nervous over the thought of him being alone in my room.

Goggles lifted, Dad's blue eyes widened, thick with the clots of intensifying anger. "And what about your sister? Surely you don't intend to leave her all alone while you run along and play."

My limbs began to twitch, suddenly swallowing my body up in black mist of seething anger. How _dare_ this man suddenly stroll back into the house after _years_ of neglect, and suddenly start preaching to me as though _I_ were absent one? If it were not for the damaged Zim upstairs I would have most certainly lost my temper altogether; as it stood it was the presence of the Irken who kept me relaxed.

"Gaz is sixteen now, Dad. She doesn't need me to hold her hand. She can look after herself," I said curtly, rolling my eyes behind my glasses. I had to wonder if Dad even remembered how old his own children were; I could not actually recall ether of us receiving as much as cards from him on our most recent birthdays.

Dad's tone was starting to spit acid. "Nonetheless she is still a child who -"

"- is more than capable of breaking a man's arm," I finished, crushing my empty Poop cola can and tossing it into the trash. I spun to face him head on, fixing his gaze with my own misted-red eyes. "Look, Dad, I really don't get why you're so bothered. Gaz can feed, clothe, wash _and_ defend herself. So she doesn't need or want me around. Zim does, so I'm going to stay with him for a few days." By this point I was growing tired, and exceedingly aggravated with this conversation, and turned to leave.

"Now now, there's no need to take that tone with me." Dad snapped, rendering my motions dead. "I cannot believe this of you, son. I always thought you a considerate boy. Have you grown so selfish that you would go away, and leave your poor sister all by herself? How could you, son?"

The nerve of that man. His disgusting hypocrisy made my skin crawl with a thousand fat leeches; biting into my skin, sucking out the goodness. Did he honestly believe that if he poured honey over his criticism that I would pander to him? No, I would not. I was not eleven years old anymore, thinking that I owed this man sycophantic gratitude just because he could not keep it in his pants. I was old enough to understand the concept of emotional manipulation, and that his attitude towards me and Gaz over the years was nothing short of neglect.

Slowly, inch by inch, my head cocked around and burned my golden-fire eyes a hole into his skull. "Easy," I responded, bluntly, darkly. "I learned from the best."

I had done it. I had well and truly crossed the borderline of no return - but I did not care. The leeches had sucked me dry of remorse and kindness, leaving me with nothing but underlining fury that had burned inside my heart for many years, fuelled by the neglect of my father. His jaw had dropped to ground; wide with disbelief over my audacity. I turned my head and carried on out of the kitchen, not passing him even a second glance. My hands were shaking, my teeth chattering with the realisation of what I had just said.

I grabbed the banister for support and called up the stairs. "Zim! If you've finished, can you bring my bag down, please?" It was an effort to remember my courtesies and remain calm. I did not dare go upstairs myself, else my next confrontation with Dad would most certainly be my last. I dropped to the floor to lace up my sneakers.

"And that's it? You're just going to walk out now?!" Dad's voice erupted from the kitchen, but he did not come out to yell at me face to face. Of course he did not; that would to be too big a show of attention. His yells caught Zim off guard, who froze half way on his descent. My expression softened for him alone in assurance that all was well, as I reached to relieve him of his heavy load. _Clothes yes, homework yes, washing stuff yes, skool stuff for Monday yes, cell phone charger yes. Wallet's in pocket . . . _One by one I recalled all of the items in my head, mentally ticking them off as I went along. Yes, I appeared to have everything.

"Get your boots on, we're going," I whispered to the Irken, ignoring my dad's last comment. But I was not finished with the man yet; I had not seen him for weeks prior, and I had never before had the opportunity to reveal to him my true feelings. Until now.

Just like drugs - or in Zim's case, self-harming - once you started, it was difficult to stop.

I remained in the hallway as I spoke to him. "I will _phone _Gaz to let her know where I am. Do you _know _what a _phone_ is, Dad? It's a device used to talk to people over a distance, to find out how they're doing." My voice had cracked. My whole body shivered, warring to keep at bay the salty flow of tears. "O . . . or just to tell them 'goodnight'."

If Dad responded to me I did not know. Maybe I shall never find out, for my words for him had evaporated, and I turned away. Grasping Zim's hand, his presence supporting me as much as mine supported him, I heaved the bag onto my shoulder and led us both out of the house, leaving the pain, and my dad, behind.

It was only when we were half way down the block that I remembered that I had referred to Zim as my friend.

* * *

**_This is around the half-way point in the story people! Thank you to everyone who has been reading so far, and I sincerly hope you shall keep reading until the end :D_**


	17. Chapter 14

One single act of kindness is often all it takes to manipulate the whole scenario of a relationship for the better, but could I really refer to Zim as my friend yet? This truce between us had not even lasted twenty-four hours, and neither had we agreed it as official. But recapping the events occurring within that time, I could see no possible route of us returning to our former enmity.

I had prevented the Irken from seriously hurting himself, tended those wounds, lent him my t-shirt and shoulder to cry on. We had even _slept_ together, him in my arms, beneath my trench coat. Is this what it took to consider a person your friend? How could I be sure? I had never had a real friend before. As I looked across to Zim I felt my lips beginning to twitch. The Irken did not return my smile, but the acknowledgement in his eyes sparked a growing ember, and I knew then that our hatred was well and truly come to an end.  
_  
Maybe I always wanted this . . ._

We spoke not a word to one another on the route back to Zim's base. My recent confrontation with Dad had rendered my mood foul and rotting. Whether it just the nature of his new character or basic intuition I did not know, but for whatever reason Zim did not attempt to begin conversation with me and for that I was grateful. Any exchange of words in my current state of mind would most certainly cause me to snap at the fragile alien - a situation I was keen to avoid. I was not stupid enough to think that Zim fully trusted me just yet; I did not wish to lose what little of the bridge had formed between us.

_One step at a time, Dib._

The very sight of our return saw GIR dance sugar induced circles around us as he squealed in innocent delight. Entering the base I glanced around the living space in search for the best place in which to rest my rucksack, so that GIR would not touch it. It seemed an unlikely feat, but one could only hope. The instant the front door was pushed closed Zim pulled off his disguise with magnified relief, and dropped onto the couch. I watched his antenna flick back and forth as they emerged from beneath the wig, and that urge to reach out and touch them rose to the surface once more.

"I . . . is th . . . there something wrong, D . . . Dib-thing?" Zim half called, half stuttered from atop the couch, fingering the sleeves of his sweater as I did with my piercings.

"Kind of." I sighed deeply and sank to the floor. Although I had calmed down a great deal I was still on edge over my argument with Dad. Deep down I knew that many of the things I had said to him were cruel and uncalled for, but it changed nothing. I cannot say that I hated the man as such, but neither was there any recollection of a strong bond shared. I sighed again. "God, you are so lucky you don't have to put up with your parents, Zim," I said, touching my fingers to the precious thin chain around my neck, and for not the first time I pondered as to what life would be like if Dad were the one who died.

Zim's head twisted up from his lap to me, a cloud of confusion crossing his face. " . . . Zim doesn't have parental units. No Irken does."

The self-disgust pooling in my gut from the thought vanished in a snap. Completely absent of mind I sat up straighter, my senses shadowed under the full attention of Zim. "No parents? At all? But . . . how does that even work?! How were you born and all?" So many questions bubbling forth; the after effects of one little statement brought to life in just a few short seconds.

The Irken stopped tugging at his sweater, his serpentine tongue beginning to recite seemingly from memory. "I wasn't. DNA is collected from the highest ranking Irken Invaders and placed together in a tube, Dib-thing, where the smeet grows. Once it hatches a PAK is attached relevant to the gender, and the smeet may report for duty."

"So . . . Your kind don't actually need to have sex in order to reproduce?" The gaining of this brand new knowledge of Irken society was incredibly captivating, but I had to curse my distracting adolescent head for bringing the topic onto sex. I had managed to go a long time without constantly finding innuendos in every possible fragment of life; why was it_ now_ of all times that I located the chance of bringing sexual relations into the conversation?

_It has _nothing _to do with Zim. Shut up, stupid brain._

"We used to." Zim's head drifted towards me again. "When females become fertile they would seek a male to mate with. She would carry the egg within her body for a period equivalent to ten Earth months before laying it, and after a few days the egg would hatch. But not anymore. Those times are over." Zim looked back to his lap and I was standing; moving towards the Irken although I was not entirely sure why. Maybe I was the one who needed to sit down properly, upon this learning. Or perhaps it was the signature sadness carved into his face that magnetised my body towards him. I dropped down beside him, earning immediate attention from GIR.

"So . . . do Irkens have sex _at all?" _Well, it would certainly explain why the Irkens were such a bitter and twisted race of people. Maybe if they all ceased conquest, and started having sex instead, then their lives would be substantially brighter.

_Curse you, brain.  
_  
A breath as tiny as Zim had been diminished, in the continuous sprouting of depression, left his mouth. "No, Dib-thing. Sexual lust is a distraction to the greater mission, so one of the PAK's functions is to erase those urges. It has been put to the Control Brains a number of times that we should allow the Taller and Tallest to take mates, but it has never been allowed." The magenta orbs lifted to meet my cheekbones, a signature tremble running across his emaciated body. "If experienced, sexual urges can be unleashed, but any Irken discovered engaging in such activity is deemed to have a . . . a defective PAK, and in that situation there can only be two possible outcomes."

I had come to notice that whenever a word in correlation to 'defect' was mentioned in his presence, Zim would shiver; a poisonous reaction of terror and revulsion. It intrigued me. It concerned me to ask, lest it distress him further, for I did not wish to upset him, not when we had only just started to get along. "W . . . what are they then?" I tried asking from a different angle, hoping that Zim would not notice.

"S . . . Some flaws in a PAK can be mended, if so then they shall be. If not then . . ." he swallowed, and took a deep breath inwards. ". . . if not, then the Irken itself is deemed to be defective and therefore deactivated." He frowned in response to my clueless expression. "The PAK is removed, Dib-thing. The Irken is put to death."

What was there left for me to say, or even do, following the learning of such repulsive laws? Dust marred my dry throat in the aftermath of this revelation. To some extent I understood why these regulations had been established among the Irkens; after all, a brutal race corrupted by conquest did not need to be distracted by sexual desires - not when they had discovered a method in which to reproduce without having to mate. Studying amongst a whole community full of teenagers - and being one myself - I knew precisely how averting lust could be, but this did not prevent the sickening twisting inside of my gut. I recalled how Zim had described the mating ritual; fragments of his explanation portrayed in the present tense - an underlining idea that Irkens still possessed all the right equipment in which to plant and bare children - or smeet, as he had referred to the young as. And whilst I could appreciate the diversions sexual urges brought with it, I failed to comprehend why any race could be so unforgiving over a simple matter of nature's basic rule of survival.

"W . . . Why d . . . does the D . . . Dib ask all these que . . . questions?" whispered Zim, chin lowering to his chest.

"Oh, um . . . just curious, I guess" I replied briskly, nervously, looking away so that he would not catch sight of my once more reddening face. I had not been lying - I truly was interested - but nor was able to prevent my own lustful thoughts from coming to the boil. I knew that they were redundant; Zim was broken, unable to even look me in the eye, never mind engaging with a person fully. It did not matter that he was no longer a part of the Irken Empire; the fact remained that he knew little save for the things he had been taught as a smeet. How could I possibly think that_ I _could persuade him to turn his back upon the laws and ideas he had grown up knowing? And why would he even want to anyway? With _me_ of all people? I am not an attention-seeker or without confidence; I know that I am not ugly or stupid or weak, but I am also painfully aware that, as far as looks go, I am not the best catch ether. I am scrawny; more of skin and bone than actual flesh. My high metabolism prevents me from casually gaining weight; my complexion rivals even that of the demonic beast arisen from the coffin. My body does have muscles, but they are subtle to the eye, unlike many of the other boys in my grade. My unique hair and ear piercings were, physically, the only qualities I had going for myself. Aside from that, I was nothing.

Looking across to Zim, he was a different story altogether. Before depression had eaten him away Zim possessed the kind of body that boys craved to own and girls craved to own them. He was very slender, but the muscles were roped tightly to his body, creating for an incredible image that stole the breaths of many. His skin was smooth as silk; flawless, without a single blemish or strand of hair, but his limbs and washboard stomach had been firm with honed strength that degraded all who stood within his shadow. The day that Zim's baggy magenta tunic vanished in place of his Gothic blacks was also the day he attracted the eyes of many - although no one would admit it. Even with the 'skin condition' Zim was utterly beautiful, and thus I knew that my fantasies would remain only fantasies, for - taking aside the fact that sex was forbidden amongst his kind - Zim had the pick of almost every girl within our skool. Why on this, or any other planet, would he ever consider choosing me?

"A . . . as you say, h . . . hy-ooman," muttered the Irken to his knees. I kicked at GIR poking my ankle, my fingers gripping into the fabric of the couch. The stammering had returned. It was peculiar how Zim stammered constantly, until he reached the point of where the conversation turned in the direction of his own kind; a subject he knew everything about and I had little knowledge. I had noticed this the previous night. Funny as it was, it did make sense; his preaching about a topic in which he excelled in must have been something of a confidence-booster, in the knowing that he could not possibly fail in what he said.

_Something you're good at . . ._ I sat up straighter; frozen, seeing a tiny crack form upon the surface of a hatching idea._ I wonder . . ._

"I . . . is there something w . . . wrong, Dib-thing?" asked Zim, evidently noticing my change in stature. For my part I did not note his movements as I had dropped onto the ground, delving into my jeans pocket for my wallet, emptying the content onto the floor in search of my sudden idea. My notions had finally rid me of GIR; it felt nice now that my ankle could breathe again.

"What are you doing?" The Irken's flat voice sounded above me. I wanted to end that flatness, end that robotic way in which he moved and responded to me, and see a return - if only briefly - of the real Zim. Tossing aside many unneeded receipts I flipped my way through a number of membership and loyalty cards, until a brilliant flash of red and black sang the sweet revelation of success.

I stood up and grinned to the Irken, my hand raising the treasure to my cheek. "I said we'd go out someplace, remember? I know _exactly_ where we can go."

On the couch below me, Zim flushed.

"I WANNA GO!" squealed GIR.

* * *

**_This is just my personal headcannon on Irken sexual laws and ideas, I wanted a chance to publish it and this chapter seemed a good time. Also, I wanted to erase any ideas in people's heads about this story becoming an Mpreg - so no one bother to ask me about half-human smeets! Cute as they are, it's not going to happen ;D_**


	18. Chapter 15 (part 1)

I had come to the realisation that whenever Zim was discussing a topic in which his knowledge was of high rating, his stammering - if only for a moment - ended. Thus I had started to wonder as to whether similar effects would occur if the Irken was to engage in an activity in which his physical skills excelled in. Maybe this too would help to bring him out of his shell.

The bright LED sign lighting above the door of one of the Mall's many attractions had Zim squinting in order to decipher the words. "L . . . Laser Quest?" He looked to me. "W . . . What is that, D . . . Dib-thing?"

"It's kind of like an invasion game," I replied brightly. His puzzled expression persuaded me to elaborate as we entered the establishment. "You've got to shoot the enemies' sensors and avoid being shot yourself. Oh, and try to take over the opposing team's base. The rules are simple, really." I had to smile when Zim's attention was immediately snagged upon the word 'invasion'. I dug my membership card from my wallet and joined the line of people waiting to pay.

"The . . . Dib has played before?" muttered Zim, trying to lean pass the queue in order to catch a glimpse of the laser weapons.

I nodded. "Yeah. Loads of times. I've been coming here for about . . . ooo, two years? Gaz and I go all the time."

Zim's eyes widened to incredible proportions. "The D . . . Dib plays this game with _G . . ._ _Gaz-scare?_" His dull violet eyes wide with the disbelief interlaced into his tone.

I smiled weakly. "I know. Hard to believe, isn't it?" Let it never be said that I had not tried building bridges with my sister. On her fourteenth birthday (with a signed permission slip from Dad and a pre-booking) I had taken her out to get the body piercings she had wanted for such a long time, and it was only after she had gotten her ears, nose, eyebrow and navel pierced that she managed to convince me to get my own piercings done. She had called me cruel names afterwards, because I had cried out each time the shop assistant shot my earrings into place, but there had been something very light-hearted about her insults - almost relaxed, in the knowing that it was all in fun. After getting pierced we had decided to play a few rounds of Laser Quest, just to see what it was like. We had both enjoyed it so well that we continued to come often enough to be recognised by the workers and other regular players, but more often than not Gaz opted to play on the opposing team to me.

My membership card got me in for half the regular price, but I still had to pay the full cost for Zim. I did not mind. Each session consisted of three games; I decided to pay for this to begin with, with the intention of paying for a second if Zim enjoyed himself. I led him past the counter into the collaboration of where other players were waiting, and designated captains mentally noting down their team members. The cluster of so many people had Zim cringing and ceasing a grip upon my wrist, so tight that his claws left marks on my skin through his gloves and my jacket. I winced, and gently loosened his hold.

"Just relax," I said soothingly, and when no one was looking I gave his hand a quick squeeze. "We need to find a team to play in. And you need to think about what you want as your screen name." Before entering into the gaming area participants gave their username to the staff on duty, who would program it into the packs we were given, and the screen displaying our scores. People with a membership needed only to have their card scanned, and their name would automatically be registered. First time players, or players without a card, required their desired name programmed in from scratch. At the sight of Zim's blank gaze I quickly explained it all to him, struggling to hide my smile at his ignorance.

_God, his puzzled face is so cute . . .  
_  
A waving above the crowd saved me from the humiliation. I snatched up Zim's wrist and pulled him along with me towards the waving hand; its owner shouting above the crowd to me. "Hey! S'up, Mothman?"

"Oh, you know, some old," I called back, meeting Stryker's hand above our heads. "Heya, Star. What's up with you guys?" I released his hand and moved to pull his sister into a hug.

Behind me, Zim growled.

Whilst I had no friends at skool, my common attendance to Laser Quest had caught the attention of some of the other regular players, in particular that of Stryker and FireStar. I did not know their real names, just as they did not know mine. In fact, other than appearance and screen names we knew almost nothing of one another - but that was a good thing. It made for a strong lack of pressure and commitment in our friendship, making the air between us very mutual. I was fully aware that the main reason Stryker and FireStar liked me was owing to the fact that I was good at Laser Quest and owned a membership card, but that was okay too, because I liked them for similar reasons.

"Knackered. Skool's a bitch after the crappy Xmas break," replied FireStar, retreating back towards her twin. I bit back a grin in the knowing that such an action would be unwise, but within a malicious corner of my mind I was glad to know that my skool was not the only one to suffer with only a week-long Xmas recess.

Stryker peered over my shoulder, appallingly hidden disappointment sinking in. "Oh? VampireDoll not with you today?" he said, referring to Gaz. It could not have been more obvious that Stryker had taken a liking to my sister. It would not bother me if Gaz ever got herself a boyfriend. In fact, I pitied the would-be boy.

"Nah, she's busy today. But I bought a friend of mine along." I gestured with my hand for Zim to come and join us. With his sunken-in cheeks and baggy clothing he looked hopelessly weak; I noticed my 'friends' exchange incredulous looks. Seeing their doubt and Zim's shrinking I put in, "He's played before, just not here."

My lie was not without its roots; I was certain that Zim's Invader training covered the skills for this type of activity. At any rate it was reassurance enough for FireStar at least, who stepped forwards and affectionately punched Zim's shoulder. I had to grab ahold of the Irken's wrist to stop him from hitting FireStar back. "Is that right? So what d'we call you then?"

The moment of rage gone, Zim turned his head towards me for guidance, almost silent whimpers dancing across his lips. "They mean your screen name," I whispered half way between the area that covered the space an ear should be, and his antenna. "Fifteen characters or less. Anything you want."

I had chosen Mothman for obvious reasons. Maybe allowing Zim to label himself under anything he wished would see a momentary return of that egotistical little Irken that I had not encountered for such a long time. All those times he had depicted himself as amazing, intelligent, almighty . . . After all this time, it should not have been a surprise to me when Zim lifted his head and muttered, "B . . . BlueRose."

The image printed within Zim's notebook instinctively budded to mind; but I could say nothing of it, not until we parted ways with FireStar and her brother. "Alright. Cool. You guys can be on our Green Team, if you want," said Stryker, blackened falseness charred through his grin. I assumed he only invited Zim - or BlueRose, as they knew him as - to join us so not to appear offensive. I agreed nonetheless, because in turn I did not wish to offend the twins, and briskly fled their company with Zim in toll, in order to collect the correct coloured sensor guns and have our screen names registered, my main agenda heavy in mind.

"BlueRose. Like that drawing in your notebook?" I questioned after we had been logged into the game. I had attached the sensor pack to my body and was in the process of assisting Zim with his, as he was at a loss.

Zim merely shrugged his shoulders in response, his attention stolen elsewhere. "Y . . . yes, Dib-thing. Just l . . . like that. . ."

Deep down, I had known for some time that the rose within Zim's notebook was a representation of himself. I suppose that I just did not want to admit so; I wanted to pretend that the real Zim was the artist. As I did not wish to spoil the game for ether of us I let it go, and began to give him a brief run-down as to where to aim his shots and the location of the sensors. "Try to keep them covered as much as possible, but don't forget to fire. And remember, your lasers will only affect people on the Red Team, so don't waste the shots. Oh, and Zim," I put in just as we started to line up in our teams outside of the playing arena. "No matter how tempting it gets, do not _hit_ any of the other players. Just shoot them, okay?"

"O . . . Okay, Dib-thing," muttered Zim. Satisfied, I smiled back at him and we went inside.

The results of my prediction were as good as I could have hoped for. Throughout the games we played Zim refused to leave my side, but it did not prevent his skills at Laser Quest being nothing short of phenomenal. He may have looked hopelessly pathetic, but every shot he aimed at an opposing player landed its target, just as he almost always avoided the shots fired at him. Bulimia had reduced Zim's agility and stamina; by the end of the third game he was sweating and panting very profusely - but in no sign could I see had the illness dampened his military skills. And when I asked if he wanted to play another session he agreed without hesitation. There was no smile to his agreement, but it was blatantly clear that he was enjoying himself - and that was all that mattered.

By the end of the second session Zim had - unsurprisingly - landed himself in first place. I had to be impressed; and maybe the attention Zim was receiving would be good for him - for as long as I could remember the Irken had adored being the vocal point of the admiration of others. I was a little way down the list in sixth place, but it did not matter. I was here to try and ignite some of the old Zim's spark back to life, and once inside the gaming area I had seen him shine through his cage - in the swift accuracy in which he fired his shots, in spurring of anger blazing to life whenever his own sensors were come under attack. But here and now, separated from the skills that gave him a purpose, the surrounding wall of people was causing him unwavering distress. In the short time it took for me to exchange words with a player under the name MojoDojo, when I looked back Zim was vanished. My throat immediately constricted of air, as I pushed my way through the crowd in search for him, mouthing a silent prayer under my breath to a God I did not believe in, that Zim did not carry with him a weapon he could turn upon the people who were upsetting him.

Or himself.

It was not until the crowd began to disperse back into the playing arena for the next session of games that Zim crawled out from his hiding place: slid between two racks where the sensors and guns slept. As he approached I gifted him with a smile and wave, choking back the bile that clung to the roof of my mouth - only a person of extreme emaciation could squeeze themself between those racks.  
"A . . . are we n . . . not playing again, D . . . Dib-thing?" he murmured, his claws gripping onto the sleeve of my denim jacket, tearing into the material as his limbs continued to quiver.

I touched my hand to his, easing his grip back. "Nah, I'm exhausted. Another session and I'll have asthma attack," I said. I did not actually have asthma; I only said it to be facetious. "Besides . . ." The growling within my stomach was leading me towards the racks. "I'm absolutely starving, aren't you? Let's get food before I pass out."

It was impossible not to notice the sour blend of anxiety and hunger carved into Zim's face upon my suggestion of food. Without a doubt he was hungry; he had only eaten half a waffle last night, and nothing since but the diet cola. I had started to suspect that Zim's eating habits leaned more towards anorexia than bulimia. Within seconds his arms had returned to their place around his emaciated frame. "I . . . If you want, Dib-thing," he muttered, his sudden withdrawal pulled viciously at my heartstrings. With a gentle grasp did I touch his shoulder and lead him away.

* * *

**_I just want to point out that the usernames featured within this chapter have been chosen with no intention to upset readers. Mothman and is obvious and can you guess MojoDojo? Stryker I picked at random, FireStar is based on a DA friend - I got this person's permission to make a play on their username. In regards to Zim's name, 'Blue Rose' was actually one of the original titles for this story before I settled on 'Blue Lips'. I'm telling you this so that anyone reading who happens to have names matching the ones mentioned will know that I did not intend for that._**

**_Part 2 shall be uploaded shortly. _**


	19. Chapter 15 (part 2)

_**The reason I did not write out exactly what happened during the laser quest game is because it would have added an unnesesary chapter to the story. Maybe one day when I'm feeling bored I'll write out the happenings.**_

_**Also, when I looked up 'laser quest US' in Google, I was reffered to American websites all of which called the game laser quest, thus I assumed that's what you called it in America too. I am now aware it's called laser tag, but I cannot be asked to go back and change it (I'm from the UK). I'm sure you all guessed what I meant anyway!**_

* * *

There was a cafeteria attached to the Laser Quest company, but the food they served was neither cheap nor good. Instead I took Zim across to the McMeaties opposite. Over the years I had noticed that the only Earth foods that Zim could tolerate were pastry based sweets, such as cakes and waffles, alongside different sodas. McMeaties had recently added a whole range of desserts to their menu, which did not taste too bad considering the corporation who served them. At the counter I paid for Zim's muffin and Poop cherry soda (I refused to buy him a diet alternative) along with my own meal. The booth we selected to sit at was isolated from the main area of the restaurant, so we could still talk without needing to whisper.

Taking the straw between his lips (I had not told him that the drink contained full sugars) Zim sucked, his false eyes wide and concerned. "Z . . . Zim has n . . . no monies, D . . . Dib-thing. I ca . . . cannot pay you b . . . back . . ."

I waved my hand negligently. "Ah, don't worry about it. I've got loads of cash." I told him. I had actually paid for everything, including the Laser Quest, on my debit, but I was too hungry to sit and explain how credit cards worked. Licking burger grease from my lips I said, "It's all guilt money from my dad. He's got this crazy notion that if he throws wads of cash at me and Gaz it suddenly makes up for years of neglect." When Dad first started this practice eight years ago I was too young to recognise the silent reasoning's behind his act. It was only coming to the end of middle skool before I understood his actions, and instantly became overwhelmed with a livid rage that even today taints the money with a blackened film of hated grime. I did not want his guilt gifts any more than I wanted to ask his permission to attend Swollen Eyeball meetings, and yet despite all this, I still managed to find a good enough reason to continue to except Dad's guilt money.

As one still ignorant to human ways, Zim did not see my reasoning. "I . . . if the Dib thinks this, w . . . why do you accept the m . . . monies?"

I gave a weak smile. "Because as my dad he's obligated to pay for me and Gaz until we're eighteen," I replied, swallowing a mouthful of meat and bread.

Poking at his muffin, Zim frowned. "Why?"

_Because when he said to my mom, 'fancy a quickie?' she didn't realise what he had in mind._ I stopped myself on the verge of letting the words run free by shoving the remainder of the burger into my mouth, my face rapidly burning up as embarrassment and lack of air writhed beneath the skin. How I could I even think about saying such a thing to Zim?! I knew that the impure ideas my adolescent head birthed was not something I could prevent, but to say them aloud was an unspoken taboo. A swallow of soda helped wash the meat down; I managed to regain myself and answer Zim's question, before he became nervous over my reaction. He was certainly watching me very beadily at the present.

"It's just another Earth law, Zim, that parents have to pay for their children until they're adults. I just wanna make sure my dad does that for us at least. God knows he's done bugger all else." I took more soda, still attempting to remain calm, although sitting opposite from broken Zim it grew increasingly difficult. Watching him poke at the raspberry muffin, breaking off little pieces but not actually eating them . . . In the end I sighed and had to say something. "But enough of my stupid family issues. Why won't you eat?"

Miles away, lost inside his own thoughts, Zim did not even answer. I know that he heard what I said - the flicker in his dull eyes suggested as much - it was just that he appeared more occupied in poking at the cake, every so often taking a sip of soda. He watched the pastry carefully, as if waiting for the moment it would jump out and bite him. He certainly looked to be somewhat frightened of what the muffin contained. "Zim, are you worried that you're gonna get fat if you eat that?" I asked slowly. It was an incredibly delicate matter, and I did not wish to scare him off.

He finally stopped poking the muffin, but he kept his sight focused upon it, still deeply unnerved.

The effort of playing Laser Quest would indefinitely have increased the speed of Zim's metabolism, preventing him from gaining any weight at the given time. I did not tell him this though; I doubted that such an idea would help him in the future. I sighed once more.  
"I don't know much about Irkens but even I know that this fasting isn't good for you." I picked up one of the broken pieces of the cake and offered it to him. "It'll help, trust me. And you know that you were never fat to begin with, right? If anything you had a great body; why would you wanna go screw it up by losing all th -" I suddenly realised what I was saying, and shut my mouth in a fraction of time before Zim became uneasy again. I was starting to grow increasingly annoyed with my straying tongue and big mouth. Why did I keep saying things to make the scarlet heat rise to my cheeks, betraying my hidden thoughts? I quickly averted my gaze.

When I looked back Zim was looking up, although not quite meeting my shielded eyes, instead resting his gaze onto the little piece of muffin caught between my fingers. The expressionless cloud upon his face spoke in the place of words, as though I already had the answer to my questions. Inch by slow inch his hand reached out, and took the cake from my grasp. I could feel my face growing ever hotter in the brief moment our fingers brushed together.  
_  
Goddamnit, Dib. What the hell's wrong with you?!  
_  
I retracted my hand, just as Zim said, "W . . . Why is the Dib d . . . doing this?"

It was with great effort, and a large mouthful of soda, that I was able to cool my face and look back to my companion. "I told you, I wanna help you get better. I can't stand seeing you like this, and -"

"No." Zim cut me off. There was no sharpness to his tone, but I shut up for him anyway. "I . . . I mean, w . . . why is the Dib always smiling?"

That was all he wanted to know? That was_ all?_ It was cute, that he had not realised it yet. My gaze softened, my head cocked slightly to one side. "That's easy, Zim. Because I wanna see you smile too."

Upon his green cheeks materialized two little spots of purple. Blushes that remained in place long after Zim pushed the piece of cake between his lips, and swallowed.


	20. Chapter 16

I have often wondered how many times within the short number of years a child claims in the world, that their own dear parent has told them the greatest lie conjured, how many times they have been too inexperienced not to believe that words cannot hurt. Words are the most hurtful and powerful weapon in existence; they do not cut, they _unpick_ the stitches holding together the tapestry of your soul, leaving you but the shredded remains of your former self. Zim was living proof of that; words were all it took for him to unravel overnight, from the evil and arrogant Invader into a fragile little creature unable to even support himself, ready to give up on life.

But words can also be the greatest of healers. I know indefinitely that it was my words that brought a comfort of some kind to the Irken; an assistance to revive the real Zim back into the world, and the warmth I experienced in knowing that my actions were of help is a feeling that I shall never forget as long as I live.

The upcoming days saw my presence beside the Irken almost constantly. In truth I was too scared to let him be on his own, lest he would attempt to hurt himself again. As such, I remained at Zim's base over the weekend, not needing to return home once - an element that saw me filled with enormous pleasure. In Zim's company I found I could be myself - an experience I had not reacquainted myself with since I was an elementary student. Majoritarily, the alien's emotional state during our time together was somewhat blank; when relaxed enough we would talk, and with little coaxing he would speak of his own people, the Irkens. Their methods of reproduction were the most fascinating to me; I hungry for learning. Zim told me of how his people are hatched, the immediate attaching of their PAKs and how their identities become known. I learned that Irken blood contains a potent acidity - a side effect released from the artificial PAK, which is highly toxic to weaker organic materials - just as Earth water is to an Irken - thus accounting for damage that had been delivered to all those plants. I was surprised that Zim was comfortable in revealing so much information to me; this mild show of trust simmered my blood upon golden embers, like the open touch of a lover's embrace.

But when Zim became anxious he would not speak to me at all. The true depth of his anxiety began to induce itself as Monday morning approached, and the base became filled with a rhythmic thumping that perked my interest. On following the sound I discovered an inapproachable Zim, repetitively banging his head upon a wall of his lab. Fighting through the swamping terror flooding my soul and his own flaring limbs I eased him back, and it was a little while of sitting in silence with a dry ice-pack on his head before Zim finally admitted that he was scared of returning to skool. Following his attack on Chunk Butcher, the Irken was terrified of how our fellow students would react. It was left to me to attempt to lessen his fears.

"I doubt anything bad'll happen. Chunk's far too proud to admit that he was scared, and everyone else's terrified of Chunk to go round implying that he was scared of you. Trust me, it'll all be fine." I lifted Zim's head so that he could see the truth in my face, and understand in all certainty that all would be well. It was even longer than before when Zim eventually slumped his posture, silently informing me that I could now hold him close.

"O . . . Ok, D . . . Dib-thing. Zi . . . Zim believes you . . ." The Irken spluttered into my chest, and when one hand reached up and held onto my arm, I was touched more deeply than he knew.

Upon returning to skool on Monday the sight of my walking beside Zim caught the immediate attention of my classmates, and I knew from then on the previous acceptance I had earned by helping out Chunk was gone eternally. If looks could kill then I would most certainly have dropped dead; my own corpse smothering atop Zim's lifeless body, for he received just as many dirty looks as I. The Irken took them hard; I felt his claws dig into my back for comfort as the evil eyes whirled into a vast caldron of muttered insults aimed at the both of us, such as 'insane' and 'crazy' and 'faggot'. The insults could not touch me; I continued to walk on with my head held high. After the weekend I had experienced there was very little left in the world that could distress me.

As it was only my Wednesday timetable that matched Zim's I became exceedingly nervous when we had to part ways for our lessons, especially considering that Zim shared many classes with Chunk Butcher. I had spied the bully across the corridor beside his own locker; a fine row of stiches stretched across his face where Zim's knife had made contact. Chunk refused to meet my gaze, although Jessica gave me enough of the evil eye for the pair of them. On a number of occasions I overhead Chunk telling groups of freshmen that he had gotten into a bar brawl on Saturday - hence the stitches. I had to smoother a chuckle whenever I heard his excuses, but never once did I correct him.

With my week filled with nothing but skool work and trying to revive Zim I found that I had little time for myself, but strangely enough I did not care. After officially informing Gaz that I would not be coming home for a while, save to collect clothes and textbooks, (to which she cheered at) I was able to allow my attention to be completely stolen away by Zim, for he demanded a lot of attention - a single quality of the real Zim which had not died away. It was a good thing that I remained at his base; for one thing I could ascertain that the Irken brought a lunch with him to skool every day. My suspicions of Zim's eating habits being more anorexic than bulimic were confirmed over the weekend; I was mortified to learn that within the past weeks Zim had eaten nothing, preferring to run solely on the energy drawn from his PAK. On the rare occasions he had eaten was owing to his own depression eliminating his ability to argue with the ecstatic GIR - and he had always thrown it up again afterwards. Whilst the PAK granted a certain level of energy to keep Zim fuelled, it was incapable of fully nourishing the organic body shell. At skool I took us to an isolated section of the grounds where we could sit, for Zim did not like eating in front of other people.  
"They stare at Zim . . ." he would mumble, thus I would sit next to him, so that it was impossible for me to stare without his knowing. I watched him through the corner of my eye to ensure that he was not disposing of anything, and simultaneously I would eat too, just so Zim would not feel so self-conscious. I had discovered that there were quite a number of human foods that Zim had grown a tolerance to. Aside from sweet pastries, cakes and soda the Irken could also consume fruit, vegetables, bread, yoghurts and pasta. I made certain to pack some of these in a lunch for him, if nothing else to add a variety to his diet, and I had even caught him _enjoying_ the flavours.

The self-cutting was something I struggled to understand _or_ prevent. I wanted Zim to trust me fully, thus I could not start searching his bag or pockets every day before skool, and since we had selected lessons apart I had to learn to trust him too. He had allowed me to clean away the dried blood caked to his arm; beneath the blackened crust lay an ugly mixture of both old and new scars, covering almost every inch of his arm. Surprisingly, at first, with the dried blood gone they did not look too bad . . . until the cool air on his arm caused the skin to inflame, rising an agonising purple flare around the fresher cuts which caused Zim to wince every time something made contact with his arm. More times than I cared to count had I pleaded with him not to hurt himself anymore, and clearly I was having some kind of effect because there came whole _days_ where Zim did not cut himself, and I began to notice that on those days he seemed, only slightly mind, a little in that of a lighter mood. These tiny changes for the better caught the attention of very few skool patronisers, but the trained eyes of Mr Buspar, the skool counsellor, did not fail to pick up on these differences, and captured my attention between a lesson change-over on Thursday, his eyes brimming with excitement.

"How did you do it, Mr Membrane?" was all he could exclaim, over and over again until I silenced him.

"How did I do what, sir?"

"Convince Zim to eat again!" Buspar's gaze narrowed, his voice dropping so that only I could hear. "Let me tell you something, I have been working with Zim almost every day for weeks now, and never once has he opened up to me, or even touched a mouthful of food. But in your company he's a completely different person!" He leaned in closer, so far that I had to back-up. "What's your secret, eh? How'd you do it?"

I could only shrug meekly in response to that, for I had no answer to give him. What could I say, without betraying the confidence that Zim had in me? I was not even sure as to whether or not Buspar knew the full extent of Zim's depression; I did not wish to mention the self-cutting - that would lead to investigations, to studying Zim's cuts, and ultimately the revealing of his identity. I found it a strange thought to comprehend; not long ago it was the dream that I craved beyond anything else, but now I wanted to protect Zim from the dangers of the human race. He was _my_ responsibility, _my _Irken - no one else could touch him.

_My, how times change . . ._

This is not to imply that everything was fine, however, that Zim was recovering at a beautiful rate - for he was not. There were times when, no matter what I said or how much I pleaded, Zim would not touch his food, or he would eat only two mouthfuls before stopping. There were times when I would leave him for only a moment, and return to discover the Irken attempting to re-bleed his wounds with his locker keys. The worst time being the day before Buspar spoke to me: Zim had fled the classroom half-way through social and health studies, and it was not until the end of recess that I found him hidden within a cubicle in the abandoned restrooms, his breath ransacked with the stench of vomit, his arm a mangled torrent of streaming blue. When I dropped down beside him, my own razor fell from his grasp. _"D . . . Dib-thing . . ." _he managed to choke out before falling onto my shoulder, his body quaking with the effort of his cries. I could only sit beside him and gently shush him until his tears ran dry. He never gave me a reason to this downfall. I could not even tend the wounds, since I had no equipment available to me that would not hurt him further.

I ended up remaining at Zim's base over that weekend too, and leaning in the next week. I was utterly terrified of leaving Zim alone; he had already proven that the damage he was doing to himself was only gouging deeper into his soul with each passing day, and I was so afraid that there would be left nothing - not even the smallest of remains of the real Zim. I do not know why I was so keen to see the real Zim again - the arrogant and egotistical Invader - but for some reason I could not fathom I _needed_ to see him. I needed to know whether the real Zim was ready to except me as a friend. I knew that it would be a long, long time before the broken shell began to fill with the returning spirit of the once living Zim. But that was okay, because I would be there for as long as it took.

I would be there for the day, and the ones following, that saw him smile again.


	21. Chapter 17

Sweet juice filled my mouth as my teeth broke into a segment of blood orange. Chewing on the sticky fruit my fingers flicked through the pages of my Literature textbook until I reached the section I was looking for. "There. Look, this is the story we're being tested on," I said, swallowing a mouthful of orange.

Zim leaned forwards to analyse the content of the two pages. Almost instantly his face paled._ "Mmm . . ._ Not this one. H . . . how can Zim do it? Z . . . Zim hates this wr . . . writing person and story." A despairing whine passed his threadbare lips. Whilst he excelled at all classes revolving on logical calculations, the Irken reached an enormous wall when faced with English Literature; he simply could not comprehend the creativity involved in the weaving of such classic stories, or the imagination required by the students. The news that our first practice exam paper was to take place the following Friday had sent Zim into fits of terror.

I consulted the page containing the printing of _The Snow Child_, and lost battle to the smile birthing in my jaw. "Really? I quite like it." As I liked both writers we were studying in our English Literature classes, and I was not ashamed to admit so. Shakespeare and Carter both possessed phenomenal skill in the wide tapestry that created their writings, and I was one of very few students who had followed the lecturer's advice in downloading audio readings of their works, to listen to in my free time.

"Z . . . Zim knows you do . . ." The Irken kept his gaze upon the text, a single claw traced a single letter, as if trying to entice to the surface the binds that created the workings of the story, his eyes blank - glassy, almost.

I looked back to the textbook. "It's only a page long, Zim. Not that much. My dad once showed me a good way of note taking. If you want I can show you," I offered, trying to keep him relaxed as I reached into my tupperware container for another orange segment, then offering the pot to Zim, who took a slice with very little hesitation. Ever since I had revealed to him that fruit contained so few calories that it was incapable of making a person fat, Zim had taken to eating vast quantities in place of most other foods. I did not think that the consumption of so much fruit was good for his body, but at least he was actually eating.

"Later, Dib-thing. D . . . Do not confuse Zim by talking o . . . of Literature, when we h . . . have mathematics next," said Zim, licking juice from his gloved fingers. On Tuesdays the only lessons we shared were the fourth period English, and fifth period Maths.

I sighed. "Fine. Whatever. Not that you need extra practice in Maths anyway." I grinned, for mathematics was one of the lessons in which he thrived in. The curriculum split sharply into two categories for Zim: the classes in which his knowledge was far beyond anything a human had the right to know, and the ones where he was utterly clueless. Unfortunately there were far more lessons he was bad at than there were good - another quality which did not help to revive him. I shoved my textbook back into my bag and retrieved my own Maths book. "You did bring your Maths homework with you, right?"

He did not answer me until the lid of my now empty container was clipped back into place and his gloves evacuated of all traces of orange juice. "Yes, Dib-thing. Z . . . Zim has it." When we were alone together I noticed that Zim's stammering would reach a point of reducing. I sincerely hoped that this would be a sign of his recovery, but I did not want to get my hopes up so soon. "D . . . did you need to c . . . copy again?"

I gave a gasp of abundant mock fury. "Again? What do you mean 'again'?! I have never copied anyone else's work in my life!" I have never been much of an actor, which was a good thing because I knew indefinitely that Zim was fully aware that I was not really upset with him. Nonetheless, he appeared only slightly nervous.

"Y . . . yes you d . . . do, Dib-thing. You copied Zim's work last night."

"Uh, I was _comparing answers_, Space-boy. There's a difference." I grinned cheekily, and stuck my tongue out at him.

"If you say so . . ."

"Oi! What's that supposed to mean?!"

"N . . . nothing . . ." His voice trailed off; light-hearted touches of unease and amusement glittered in the air he breathed

"No, you mean something, Space-boy. Tell me!"

"Z . . . Zim _never_ copies . . ."

"I was comparing answers. Besides, _you_ wouldn't need to copy because your superior Irken brain outweighs us stupid dirt-children."

"Yes."

It was not so much the bluntness in his answer, or the growing stupidity of our friendly argument that made me burst into laughter. No, that was owed to the blatant lack of arrogance in Zim's 'yes'. He said it as a clear statement, as one might say 'I'm a boy'. Nevertheless I was clinging to my sides in an effort to suppress the growing cramp born through my uncontrollable laughter. I could feel my glasses bouncing on the bridge of my nose, threatening to fall at any given moment.

"Z . . . Zim made the Dib laugh . . . Victory for Zim." That one little statement, spoken so flatly yet sparkling with the smallest glimmer of the real Zim's spirit, forced me backwards, and before I had time to prevent my own falling, I was spasming upon the earth. My glasses had fallen off - a good thing in reality, else condensation would blind me in face of the tears streaming from my eyes, flowing thick with my enjoyment. Above my amusement I could hear Zim shifting about, whether uneasy over the sight before him I was unsure.

Pain shot through my hip. I groaned, and heaved against my side. _"Uh . . ._ I've got a . . . cramp. Don't . . . speak . . . anymore," I stuttered through my chuckles, finally managing to suppress themselves as I lifted back onto my knees. One hand remained upon the ground, so to steady my twitching body, whilst the other sought for my glasses and pushed them back into place. I was relieved that they appeared undamaged.

"Ca . . . can Zim speak now?"

My lips brushed together, forcing back another rush of laughter. God, if I had to go through that again then I would most certainly be sentenced to the Crazy House. "Yeah. Sorry, Zim," I breathed out, still rubbing a hand up and down my hip in order to eliminate the cramp. It was momentary, and as soon as the ache passed I lifted my head.

The world stopped turning. Everything around me froze; focussing in on the centre point of the spin of life itself.

Two purple blushes, pale, and smeared into Zim's gaunt, yet oddly inviting cheeks; the sweet spice capturing my senses, freezing them into one solid moment.

And there, inbetween it all:

Soft, tender, and small. But nonetheless the most beautiful smile I had ever seen.

I do not know at what point I decided to move. All I can remember is that first we were apart, and then I was closing the gap so that there was only a tiny pocket of space separating us. A single crack of air, distancing my face from touching his.

That smile was gone, replaced by something I cannot describe, other than my own starvation for the missing beauty. "D . . . Dib-thing, yo . . . your face is changing c . . . colour again. A . . . and why are you so close t . . . to Zim?"

My limbs were trembling. My whole body, mind and soul filled to the brim with the understanding that I had been missing for such a long time. And now that it filled me, I needed to reach out and embrace it.

Embrace _him._

"Do that again, Zim." My voice was as soft and tender as the absent sweetness from his face. "Please smile for me. Please . . ."

A shiver. A passing cloud of confusion, followed by a small twitch . . . and then the fog broke. Shining through the beautiful rays of sunlight that carved the perfect smile into Zim's face. "You really are a foolish hy-ooman creature, Dib-thing." He did not stutter once. Such was the perfection of the light.

I closed the gap.

Never before had I experienced a sensation quite like this one. So much to take in; so many messages penetrating my psyche all at once. The warmth; the feel of my soft human lips pressed against Zim's exotic alien ones. The dying of the life around us, leaving nothing in existence save for me, Zim, and the moment. The wondering of my hands onto his shoulder, his hip, moving downwards, hooking into the waist band of his jeans. The tastes; the involuntary flicker of my tongue, running against his closed lips. A passing thought; _does he naturally taste like a blood orange . . ?_

_"NO!"_

The collision was broken. The sensations, the moment, all shot dead in the instant I was suddenly thrown backwards when a pair of powerful fists thumped into my chest. A yelp escaped my tongue, drowned out by the tormented screams rippling from Zim's mouth. He launched himself backwards, his body smashing into the unforgiving surface of the skool wall. His falsely coloured eyes as wide as I had ever seen them before, shinning with the promise of tears to come. His fingers lifted to brush against his defiled lips; the purest of fears defining his features, rapidly engulfing his quivering body.

"Z . . . Zim! I am so sorry, I didn't mean it! I wasn't thinking right! I'm sorry . . ." The words kept on running, kept on falling from my mouth in desperation to reach out to him, for my flesh could not. My legs had turned to jelly, my hands trembling so badly that the force shook my very bones.

But my trembling had nothing on Zim. The Irken was a leaf caught in a hurricane: trapped, tide down by the unstoppable force that kept his movements immobilised in the twisted shaking. His mouth moved, the words barely breaking through his violated lips. _"W . . . w . . . why w . . . would th . . . the D . . . Dib do t. . . .that? Zim th . . . thought D . . . Dib-th . . . thing . . . di ._ _. . different. D . . . does D . . . Dib-th . . . thing think Z . . . Zim . . ."_ He was cut off as a sudden attack inside his own throat tour at the flesh. He choked, spitting up bile with his tears.

"No, please! I didn't mean it, you have to believe me!" I was desperate, my own eyes stinging behind my glasses, terrorised by self-anger. I gained control of my limbs. My hand reached out, wanting to touch him, show him my sincerity.

_"NO! LIAR!" _A flare of snapping pain lashed out as his own hand whipped a white-hot strap against mine. His claws gripped the wall, and with great effort heaved himself to his feet, his body still shuddering. _"Th . . . the Dib wa . . . wants . . . b . . . but Zim . . . No! Zim is not a defect! I'm not, I'M NOT!"_

"I _am_ different, Zim! Don't think like that, please! I'm sorry!"

It was too late. The dust was spraying in my face; I could taste the gritty twist of filth and the spice of shame; burning in my ears came the strangled sobs escaping Zim's mouth, the thumping of his spiked Goth boots banging on the concrete, leaving me behind with nothing but the lingering echoes of his cries.

* * *

**. . . Oh come on! Did you honestly think I was going to make it so easy? ;D**


End file.
